


Ursa Minor and Hydra

by MarshmallowMcGonagall



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, F/M, Flashbacks, Grief, Healing, Marriage, Past Miscarriage, Potions, Pregnancy, Scars, Sex, Weddings, past self harm
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-16
Updated: 2021-03-07
Packaged: 2021-03-10 03:15:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 27,370
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27586634
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MarshmallowMcGonagall/pseuds/MarshmallowMcGonagall
Summary: Andromeda and Narcissa think it’s high time Snape proposed to Tonks, so they scheme to give the couple a little alone time. With a weekend to themselves at the Malfoys’ Highland lodge while Teddy stays with his grandparents, Snape and Tonks find themselves surrounded by the past and possibilities.
Relationships: Severus Snape/Nymphadora Tonks
Comments: 18
Kudos: 16





	1. Chapter 1

The kettle on the stove whistled as the fire in the hearth turned green. Narcissa came through the Floo followed by Lucius. Andromeda hugged her sister as they exchanged hellos, and she deigned to give Lucius a kiss on the cheek. Tonks and Snape looked on from the other side of the kitchen where they were sitting at the table, chairs beside each other, his arm around her shoulders.

There were more greetings as Narcissa came over and bent to kiss Tonks on both cheeks before leaning over to kiss Snape on the cheek. 

“How is my favourite niece and my dear old friend?” said Lucius, grinning as he came over, having pinched a biscuit from the plate Andromeda was preparing.

“Hello Lucius,” said Tonks, as she stroked Snape’s leg. She couldn’t stop herself laughing when she saw him glaring at Lucius.

Andromeda brought a tray of mugs over to the table, spirals of steam rising above them while Lucius grabbed the tray of biscuits and cakes which was levitating behind her.

Tonks Cottage had become a neutral ground after the war. Safe from the prying eyes of Diagon Alley and without the heaviness of the Manor, there was a space for tea, coffee, and many a tray of biscuits. The kitchen table had a magic of its own. It witnessed grief, joy, and the awkwardness which came when people met with the intention of trying to make amends, and getting to know one another, rather than to kill and fight. Across the old oak, relationships were repaired and rebuilt. Introductions were made while pots of tea were brewed. And a quiet sense of family began to grow.

Tonks leant more heavily against Snape and sipped her tea while listening to Lucius asking him about an article in the morning’s Daily Prophet. Her mother and Narcissa had their heads together and she was only half listening, her focus on the fire which was keeping the worst of winter's chill at bay.

The kitchen door which led to the garden opened with a small flurry of snow ushering Teddy and his grandfather indoors. 

In the chaos of the weeks which followed the Battle of Hogwarts, Tonks and Snape found a cottage which managed to be both near her parents’ home and also in the middle of nowhere. A comfortably long walk if they wanted, or a quick Apparition. As the dust settled and they were to be found in the Ministry or Diagon Alley together, few were comfortable in wanting to be the ones to ask how long their relationship had been going on.

Tonks hid her pregnancy with loose robes and big cloaks, and after Teddy was born, they kept him hidden from all but a few for as long as possible. The newborn metamorphmagus ended up being the bridge between Tonks and her aunt. Little moments of Narcissa sharing what she remembered from when Draco was a baby gave them a safe place to get to know each other. Lucius and Snape quietly acknowledged the other had done what they deemed necessary to get through the war, and Ted welcomed them both as he and his wife got to know their grandchild. Over the years which passed, when Tonks, Snape, and Teddy went out together, the glances had lessened. The news had spread. The worst of which had descended into the gossip over how Teddy had been born to parents who still weren’t married.

“Uncle Lulu!” said Teddy, running across the kitchen without bothering to take off his cloak or wellies.

“My angel!” said Lucius, holding out his arms. “How are you?”

Teddy clambered up onto Lucius’s lap. “Grandpa—Grandpa said Teddy stay the weekend!”

“Is that so?” asked Narcissa, with a quick glance at Snape who looked back at her unimpressed.

Ted was hanging up his cloak and taking off his hat and gloves while Narcissa and Lucius helped Teddy to do the same.

“Yes!” said Teddy.

Tonks looked at her father. “Dad?”

Ted sat down beside Andromeda, and Lucius pulled the tray of biscuits across the table along with the mug of hot chocolate Andromeda had made for Teddy.

“Your mother’s idea,” said Ted, picking up his mug, “and Narcissa’s.”

“Well,” said Andromeda, “the two of you always disappear with Teddy for a few days at the beginning of December, and this time Narcissa and I thought you might enjoy a little more alone time now that Teddy’s older.”

Lucius snorted while he quietly debated biscuit choices with Teddy who was picking up each one and looking it over thoroughly before putting it back down. 

“I don’t know why you’re so shy about celebrating your anniversary,” said Narcissa.

Because it wasn't an anniversary to celebrate. Tonks and Snape had never come out and told anyone their relationship began in the summer she joined the Order of the Phoenix. Instead, when asked, she would change the conversation, and everyone had the good sense not to ask him. A war lay between them and definitions, and the summer ached with the grief of possibilities lost, too. The winter, however, was harsher in the memories it could weaponise. And the anniversary pierced particularly deep, with no doubt of when it fell.

“Have you booked anywhere?” asked Lucius.

Tonks gave a small laugh and put her mug down. She glanced at Snape as she stroked his leg.

“Not this year, no,” said Snape, gently squeezing Tonks’s shoulder. Their plan had been to stay home, close the Floo, and strengthen the wards.

“Excellent,” said Narcissa. “Because we do have somewhere ready for you.”

Tonks looked at Teddy who was giving Lucius a half-eaten biscuit while he investigated the others on offer. Lucius ate the biscuit and pointed at one Teddy had yet to try. 

“A good chance for you both to have some time together,” said Andromeda.

“Alone,” said Lucius, coyly. “I’m sure Andromeda and Narcissa wouldn’t say no to another baby to dote over while Draco and Hermione persist in pretending we don't know they're engaged. Merlin knows how long it will be before they have a child."

“Oh hush,” said Andromeda, though she was looking at Teddy wistfully. 

“How much scheming have you put into this?” asked Ted, as his grandson handed him a biscuit.

“Just enough, I hope,” said Narcissa.

“I hate you,” murmured Snape, before downing the last of his coffee.

There was a ripple of laughter around the table and Teddy looked up.

“Edward, my young man, would you like to have a brother or sister?” asked Lucius.

Teddy considered the question for a moment. “Brother.” Then he went back to the tray of biscuits which was being depleted at an alarming rate.

Tonks’s skin ran with goosebumps and she forced herself to quell the shiver which threatened to race through her. She swallowed then drew in a deep breath and fought to find a smile as her fingers dug into Snape’s leg. Much like the beginning of their relationship, her miscarriage that first winter was a secret, too.

He knew the dull ache well, but his priority was her, and he could do nothing more than put his mug down and let his hand drift to the one she had on his leg, his thumb stroking back and forth across her soft skin while everyone was distracted by Teddy. It was seven years since their world was turned upside down. Though in the end, there were no decisions to make beyond how she pleaded the week off work. An excuse of food poisoning gleaned a few sympathies from Moody and she recouped from the worst of the physical effects while Snape stayed with her every minute he could. When he was required to leave his quarters, others in the castle needed no encouragement to keep their distance.

“You've been away for the night before,” said Andromeda, getting up to sort a proper snack for Teddy and more drinks for everyone.

“All those weddings and we've yet to see you two even engaged,” said Narcissa, lightly. “Severus, when are you going to do the right thing?”

“Excuse me?”

Tonks turned to kiss Snape’s shoulder and she let herself think of the weddings and Ministry events they had gone to since the war ended. Many while she hid a growing bump under elegant robes and his stress levels rocketed at being in crowded spaces where Daily Prophet reporters had a habit of lingering. When Teddy was older he stayed with her parents for the night and Snape's stress levels were little altered. She had lost count of the times they left events early.

Tonks thought she ought to save Snape before Narcissa started on one of her favourite ways of teasing him: legitimising Teddy.

“Where did you have in mind?” she asked.

“Well,” said Narcissa, “we have a little place in the Highlands which we thought would be perfect.” She took a small box from her robes and handed it to Tonks. 

Snape shot a glare at Narcissa. “If that’s a ring—”

“It isn’t a ring,” said Andromeda, from across the kitchen.

Tonks looked at the silver box then at Narcissa. “So this is?”

“The Portkey,” said Narcissa.

Tonks handled the box like it was a dark artefact. She lifted the lid just enough to see inside, then immediately closed it. “No.”

“Nymphadora,” said Andromeda, coming back over with another fully laden tray, “it’s only a bracelet.”

“It’s from the vaults,” said Tonks, opening the lid again. “It has to be.”

Snape caught sight of the silver inlaid with emeralds and diamonds.

“And that means you have every right to wear it,” said Andromeda.

“But I’m not a Black, and you were blasted off the—” Tonks trailed off when she saw her mother’s arched eyebrow. She sank back against Snape and groaned. “This isn’t a Black piece, is it?”

“I remember your great-grandma Rosier wearing the entire parure,” said Narcissa. “We’ve been going through the vaults recently and, well, Andromeda and I thought this one would suit you beautifully.”

“Even though I’m a Half-blood?” asked Tonks, with a pained smile.

“Dora, your mother and Narcissa had the curse-breakers go over everything,” said Ted.

“Parure?” said Teddy, trying to manage the strange word as he looked up from the creation he and Lucius had been building with biscuits.

“Beauties for your mama,” said Narcissa. 

Teddy clambered down from Lucius’s lap and went around the table to his parents. Tonks kissed his cheek and lifted him up. He opened the box fully and prodded the stones. The emeralds and diamonds shifted on their pillow of velvet and gleamed with sharp sparks of light in the warmly lit room.

Narcissa turned to look at Tonks. “Would you like the ring and necklace, too? Of course, the tiara would be there for when you get married as well.”

Tonks all but squeaked, “No!”

“Slythin,” said Teddy, looking up at his father.

Snape smiled and stroked Teddy’s cheek. “Well done.”

Tonks nudged Snape with her knee and grinned. Their debate over Teddy’s future Sorting was a longstanding debate. They both missed the way everyone else in the kitchen looked at them in that moment. The softened smiles. The gratitude that they made it through the war and had each other. Even if no one was entirely sure how.

“Do you think your mama should wear it?” asked Narcissa.

Teddy nodded and picked up the bracelet with no concern for its value. For the Galleons and history which had forged the piece. Snape and Tonks exchanged a glance and after a moment she held out her hand. Snape took the bracelet from Teddy and placed it around Tonks’s wrist. The charm which settled around the lock sent a shiver down her spine. The bracelet wouldn’t succumb to muck or water, and neither would it come off without some persuasion. She could feel the tendrils of old magic. Of his magic, too. Of what it meant in the simplest terms to give a gift of jewels. Teddy patted gemstones then looked up in confusion at the adults who were watching him.

“Now, Teddy,” said Andromeda, “I know grandpa needs you to help us out in the garden, but do you think you can help with all the baking I had planned for the weekend, too?”

Teddy frowned. “We make biscuits?”

There was a ripple of laughter. 

“Of course,” said Andromeda.

“You really want to stay with grandma and grandpa for a few days?” asked Tonks. “For a few sleeps, too?”

Teddy looked at his father then climbed onto his lap for a hug. “Papa’s potions be okay?”

“They’ll be fine,” said Snape, kissing Teddy’s hair.

Teddy smiled and turned to Tonks. “I stay with grandma and grandpa.”

“Excellent,” said Narcissa. “The Portkey leaves at seven and everything’s ready for you.”

“Food in the cupboards, wood already chopped, wards ready to let you in,” said Lucius, with a smug smile.

“How long are you planning to have us out of the way?” asked Tonks.

“Let’s say two nights,” said Narcissa, glancing at Snape. “And hopefully you’ll return more than just well rested.”

“She’s planning something,” said Snape, once he and Tonks were back in the kitchen of Rowan Cottage. The fire no longer burned green from Floo powder and he brushed the remnants of ash from his cloak as he hung it up.

“The full parure?” she said, picking up Teddy’s stuffed dragon which had been left on the table. “She’s planning a wedding, Severus.”

Snape came up behind Tonks and put his arms around her. She leant her head back against his shoulder and stared up at the ceiling where bundles of herbs hung tied in twine. With Teddy still at his grandparents’ cottage, the kitchen was quiet but for the fire crackling nearby and the flurries of snow which brushed against the window with each gust of wind.

She ran her fingers over the edge of the dragon’s wings, the once pristine fabric now worn and faded. The dragon had been the first of many gifts Draco had given his godson and was Teddy’s favourite except for the Junior Firebolt. Draco was adamant that Teddy be ready to join the Slytherin team as soon as he was eligible at Hogwarts. 

“A brother,” she said, quietly.

He stroked her belly. “I know.”

Snape was sitting on their bed folding the clothes Tonks threw to him as she went through drawers and the wardrobe for what they might need. She came over with a set of pyjamas and dropped them onto the duvet. He pulled her closer and she stood between his legs. He kissed her belly and absentmindedly she ran her fingers through his hair.

His hands came to rest on the back of her thighs and she gave a quiet groan of resignation. One of her hands drifted down to his cheek and he pressed his lips to her wrist just shy of where the bracelet sat. 

“Those colours suit you,” he murmured.

“Why are you being mean to me?”

He laughed and she moved to straddle him. Her soft smile was marred by pain and she rested her head on his shoulder while he put his arms around her. She was wearing one of his winter shirts over her top and she wriggled against him as she pulled the cuffs over her hands and settled against him. 

Their first winter was when she started wearing his winter shirts. He had returned between Monday classes, the first time he had to be hours from her, to find her sound asleep in the heavy shirt he had left on the armchair the night before. 

There was never a smirk when she picked up one of his shirts. Sometimes there was a wary glance or a quickly averted gaze. He wasn’t going to ask. He didn’t need to. Even when they were together, she would retreat to his shirts even if she wore nothing else. The sleeves too long, she did her best to hide away. Did her best to protect herself, ready for when he had to leave.

When their second winter became quieter, she shrugged on his shirts more easily. When they were together, she would look for the cosy ones and slip them on before she left. When they were apart, she wore them constantly.

The third winter which followed, they were forced apart by war. He would sit on the bed in the headmaster’s quarters and stare at the chest of drawers. He had long lost count of how many shirts she had taken. How many he had replaced. He didn’t know whether to hope she still had them or wonder how quickly she had rid herself of reminders. He would give in to the need for sleep. On good nights he dreamed of her. On other nights he had nightmares. Come the morning, he wasn't sure he could always tell the difference.

She placed bets with herself, gambling promises and wishes, all to hope she would be in his arms again one day. Her arms around herself, under blankets and duvets in her childhood bedroom, the scent of him was long gone from each of the shirts she wore.

She brewed potions in the hope of evoking memories and it never worked. Not really. The burn of flame against metal wasn’t the same. Wandering through her parents garden, she gathered plants. The knife slicing through the stems and eliciting aromas which burst into the air. And still no hint of him. No whisper of her name on his lips when—

Mugs of coffee going cold on the bookshelves beside her, she would curl up and watch the fire in her bedroom. It wasn’t the fire she watched with his arms around her. Not the bed where she cried, laughed, and panted. The curls of smoke and spirals of steam were little more than shadows of what she wanted. What she needed.

It was a season consumed by grief, and in the end, she let it take her. 

When they moved into Rowan Cottage there wasn't a great deal to unpack but Snape noticed one of Tonks’s bags had been left at the bottom of the wardrobe. He knew she would have her reasons, and he left the bundle where it was. 

The months which followed led them through autumn and into a harsh winter, as well as further into Tonks’s pregnancy. Snape was used to seeing his t-shirts being stretched over her bump, then one December night she wandered into the parlour wearing one of his old winter shirts over her pyjamas. Without thinking, she closed the door to keep in the heat from the fire. She tried crossing her arms, having her hands on her hips and putting them in her pockets. Slowly, he stood up, not caring that the potions journal had slipped with a quiet thud to the floorboards. She wiped her eyes with the cuff of his shirt, then sniffed and held out her hands. He crossed the room and put his arms around her, an action which was becoming more awkward with each week. He kissed her hair and reached down to stroke her bump which pressed against him. Her shaky laugh collapsed into tears. Wracking sobs which he could only hold her through. 

He stroked her back and she pressed her forehead against his shoulder. The shirt she had on was a newer one. The originals still lived in a bag in the wardrobe and she only wore them on rare occasions. On dates neither of them struggled to remember and on dates where there was nothing he could pin down. Where she would shake her head and lose herself to distractions in the garden or in the small renovations Rowan Cottage still needed. Those were the days when he could find Tonks and Teddy napping together in the large master bed. Days when Tonks let her changes go while she slept. That was when Snape knew how tired she was. How much energy she was putting into getting through the day. He would close the Floo and leave the potions under stasis charms, if not for another day altogether, and he would read research journals while he watched them both sleep. Waiting for when Teddy would wake, and carrying him from the bed while he rubbed his eyes, the toddler’s sleepy words filling the hallways while Snape took him downstairs to let Tonks get all the rest she could. When the night came, and Teddy was asleep in his own bed, Tonks and Snape would retreat to their bedroom. Sometimes she would take off the shirt only to put it back on again, sometimes she didn’t stop to think and got straight into bed. The lamps extinguished, she would curl up and answer the questions he wouldn’t ask. Murmured words between them. Whispers of war, grief, what ifs.

“We should take the heavier cloaks,” he said.

“My boots,” she said, her head darting up, “where are my cosy boots?”

“By the back door. You left them to dry out after falling in that puddle in the woods last weekend.”

“The puddle?” She raised her head, squinting as she searched his eyes. “Oh, yes. You and Teddy were trying to identify trees.”

He could feel the weight of her against him as if she was moments from falling asleep. She had woken from nightmares at least once a night for the past week, and come the morning she would pad around Rowan Cottage more slowly, the circles dark beneath her eyes which she wasn’t always quick enough to metamorphose and disguise.

She closed her eyes and groaned. “Jackdaws. You were telling Teddy about the difference between jackdaws and crows. Oh, Merlin.”

“You’re tired, Tonks.” 

“Fancy a weekend in bed?” she asked with an empty laugh.

“Sounds perfect,” he said, quietly. 

She sighed heavily and slipped her arms around his neck. Her murmured thanks followed by a kiss, they stayed on the bed in a comfortable silence. She didn’t doze, but her breaths calmed to a slow and steadier pace, and when she was ready, they carried on packing for the weekend.

In the kitchen of Tonks Cottage, Teddy leapt down from his chair and ran to his parents. Andromeda followed him while Ted, Narcissa and Lucius stayed at the table. On the stove, a stew bubbled away quietly and the scent of roasting potatoes and herbs wafted from the oven. Tonks picked Teddy up and he told them both about his afternoon while they’d been at home packing. Andromeda took Teddy’s bag from Snape, packed with the things he didn’t already have at his grandparents’ cottage, and dug out the dragon when Snape told her which pocket it was in. With his dragon in hand, Teddy snuggled against Tonks and reached out for Snape. After several minutes of kisses and hugs and love yous, Narcissa coughed gently. 

“The Portkey leaves at seven,” she said. 

Snape and Tonks both glanced at the clock. They had a few minutes, and with the disturbance a Portkey would cause, they both knew they needed to go outside before the pull drew them away to their destination for the weekend. 

“Remember to listen to grandma and grandpa,” said Tonks.

Teddy nodded.

“Don’t listen to your aunt and uncle,” said Snape.

Teddy giggled and everyone laughed. Snape’s mouth pulled up in a smile when he glanced at Narcissa and Lucius. They adored their great-nephew and took delight in teaching him things he shouldn’t know. 

Tonks rushed back for one more kiss before stepping out into the snowfall where Snape was waiting for her with the holdall. Teddy waved to his parents, then Andromeda shut the door at Tonks’s insistence that they not get cold. She found Snape’s hand and they walked along the garden path, the snow crunching beneath their boots. She shivered at the gust which blustered around them, then flung out her other arm when she stepped on a patch of ice. He stood firm beside her while she regained her balance. Fragments of light glanced off the ground around her feet and she grasped his hand more tightly as she walked back onto the snow. He followed her through the gate, the old hinges creaking as the ice on them broke apart. 

Almost in the dark but for the sliver of moonlight and the stars which peeked out from behind the passing clouds, they stopped and she slipped her other hand beneath his cloak and around his body. Her gaze drifted back to the cottage. A faint glow strayed around the edges of the windows and she rested her head on his shoulder. Snow settled on their cloaks and got caught in their hair. She squeezed his hand and the bracelet slid across her skin, halting against the cuff of her glove. He squeezed back and kissed her neck. 

A gust of wind stirred up their cloaks and whipped up the snow. The cool metal and his warm lips. Hard gems and soft touches. She wanted to burrow away, and instead found herself anchored in expectations. She wanted him. With or without a ring, it didn’t matter. He murmured her name and she made a small sound of acknowledgement which was drawn out into a soft moan when he pressed his lips to her neck again.

There was the faintest twitch in a couple of his fingers and she stroked her thumb back and forth across his hand. Raising her head, she found him with ease. He deepened the kiss and held her hand more tightly as she pressed herself against him.

The yank of the Portkey drew a small gasp from her and broke the kiss. It wasn’t the same as Apparating together. The pressure different on their bodies as magic swirled, drawing the falling snow around them as their cloaks billowed. Gazes fixed on each other, the darkness twisted and they came to stand in a colder night.


	2. Chapter 2

Still holding hands, they looked around the vast stretch of snow covered ground which led down to the shore of a loch and up to the base of the mountains. Standing quietly on a stretch of ground between the loch and the smallest of the mountains, there was a lodge. Lone trees bereft of leaves were scattered across the land. The mountains looked as though they had been dusted with sugar. Hidden beneath snow, their usually jagged ridges smoothed into sharp edges which looked like they could cut the sky. Shards of ice crunched and cracked with the movement of the tide against the shore. The night’s sky was marred by clouds, allowing only a few constellations to look down upon the world.

“Lumos,” said Tonks.

The lodge could have disappeared into the landscape if not for the slate roof and the wooden door painted a dark green. Tonks muttered something about Slytherins and Snape squeezed her hand. The breeze which greeted them began to sink into something harsher. The snow crunched beneath their boots as they walked to the front door.

“Nox,” she said, before placing her hand on the wrought iron door handle.

The warm white glow of the wards was followed by the sound of locks unclicking. She let the door swing open. Woodsmoke greeted them along with soft lamplight. They both kicked the snow off their boots and went inside.

Rowan Cottage sat within a walled garden of several acres. The ground needed working, with wild roses having run rampant and a patch of mint threatening a mutiny near the south corner in the ruins of an old greenhouse. A handful of trees gave shade and near the middle was the cottage itself which sat nestled in amongst shrubs, several of which were competing to spread the furthest across the kitchen windows. Ivy trailed around the front door. 

The cottage was in need of repair, that much was obvious. There was plenty of room, then more to spare. The grounds were big enough for a kitchen garden, a potions garden, and whatever else they might desire. It was somewhere he could see them being for years. Perhaps somewhere they would never leave. She squeezed his hand and he met her gaze. 

She closed her eyes and slipped her arms around his neck, giving a hiccoughing laugh when he scooped her up in his arms and carried her to the door. When they reached the threshold, he paused.

His mouth pulled up in a small smile and she reached to turn the door handle. He nudged the door further with his foot, then he carried her inside. The need for repairs wasn’t as drastic as he had wondered, though the hot air was stifling. She murmured his name and he set her down gently. 

“Home,” he said, as if he didn’t quite believe it.

She nodded, unsure whether to laugh or cry, and ended up doing both. He pulled her into a tight hug.

The first real home either of them could call their own. The place they had come to after she told her parents they were together. The place she had been keeping secret. It wasn’t a gift or a surprise. There had been long conversations, and visits to Gringotts. Lots of paperwork and many a parchment for them both to sign. She would turn parchments over and keep her hands over everything but the figures, teasing him about different details of the properties she had been looking at. The details she had told Poppy but not him. Small moments together in amongst the chaos. He was unbothered, if a little amused when the property she settled on was considerably lower than the figure they’d agreed she could go up to, but she promised him that it met all they’d agreed upon.

She Apparated with him to Tonks Cottage from Hogsmeade, her grip on him not easing. Tonks had promised him he would survive the experience and he didn’t challenge her and instead was the one to reassure her she could do it. The murmur in her ear that he was there. That he was with her. She drew in a deep breath and led him towards the door, knowing she couldn’t keep him a secret for much longer. 

She turned the handle and pushed the door open to find not only her parents looking at her, but her aunt and uncle, too. For a brief moment, she considered running. She knew her mother had been spending more and more time navigating the decades apart with Narcissa. Knew her father and Lucius were doing their best to be polite, which usually meant stilted conversations which faltered from topic to topic until they had discovered a shared interest in poisonous plants. She knew none of them were expecting her to bring someone home.

Snape squeezed her hand. She stepped in front of him, brought his arm around her, and kept a firm grip on her wand.

“Nymphadora?” said Andromeda.

Tonks looked at her mother who had risen from where she sat at the table and was only stopped from crossing the room by Ted taking her hand.

Narcissa made no attempts to be subtle in turning to Lucius and mouthing, “No.”

Lucius rolled his eyes and leaned forward, eyebrows raised, and with a wicked grin.

Narcissa looked Tonks up and down. Her gaze drifted to Snape, a quiet question in her expression which he acknowledged with the slightest nod. 

Tonks’s deep breaths pushed against Snape.

The morning had been spent with Poppy once Tonks arrived having snuck her things from her parents’ cottage to the new property. Her excitement softened by the moments she spent leaning against him, her head on his shoulder, the quiet whispers of apology that there was so little of his to move. What few belongings of his had survived in the headmaster’s quarters from the battle had fitted into a rucksack. What few he wanted to keep. And how much was she taking, he queried. With a quiet laugh, she admitted that it was little more. Years spent fighting had afforded little time for living. Poppy didn’t pretend not to have overheard when she came in with yet another tray of tea and biscuits, and she told them it was a time for a fresh start.

Despite the summer heat, there was a chill which snaked around Tonks’s legs, then she felt the slightest nudge from Snape’s hand.

“We’ve been together a while,” admitted Tonks.

“How long?” asked Andromeda, sharply.

“A while,” repeated Tonks, cautiously.

“My, my,” said Lucius, looking like the kneazle who had got the cream. “This is a surprise.”

“We didn’t want anyone to worry,” said Tonks, in a rush, “because we knew our relationship might compromise—might compromise different things.”

Lucius snorted. Snape looked at the person he was still reestablishing a friendship with. A friendship where the terms had changed so often over the years that neither was entirely sure where they stood. Except in that moment, Lucius’s expression made it very clear that the idea of his friend being with his niece was the best entertainment he’d witnessed in too long. But in Lucius’s smile, Snape was relieved to find no malice. 

It was Narcissa who broke the silence, her eyes darting back and forth between them as a look of realisation spread across her features. “So officially you’ve only been together since the war ended?”

Tonks nodded.

“And unofficially?” asked Ted.

“Long enough that we’ve bought a place together,” said Tonks.

Tonks made a point of treating the property search as a solo endeavour until it came time to finalise contracts and transfer galleons, at which point she and Snape made their way separately to Gringotts, and met inside the bank. The wizard and witch who were assisting the goblin in charge of managing the purchase raised their eyebrows when asked to hide the finer details of the property from Snape. Once the deal was complete, Tonks was polite in her request that the assistants maintain their silence on the matter. She knew she could trust the goblin who was having quiet words with Snape. The wizard and witch glanced at Snape, then back at Tonks, and nodded. She made a point of telling them, with a smile, that she would know where the leak had come from if information got out. 

“I had to get married to get property,” said Narcissa, with only partially feigned indignance.

“And you got the Manor,” said Lucius, patting Narcissa’s thigh. “Dear niece of mine, pray tell, what did you buy?”

“A cottage,” said Tonks.

She stood in front of the cottage with the wizard from Gringotts who was dealing with the property, and stared at the dusty windows. The building had been abandoned for years. The wizard droned on about how the roof had been fixed, the slates charmed to withstand storms for another ten years. He slid into discussing the decor, the rooms which needed floorboards replaced, though—he was quick to say as he flipped through sheafs of parchment—the floors themselves were stable. The fireplaces would need to be reconnected to the Floo Network and there were only basic wards on the grounds. Since the previous owners had left the country then passed away, the blood wards once in situ were null and void without any family to inherit. Tonks nodded as the wizard spoke of how the bathrooms were all working—colleagues had made sure the plumbing was sound after their initial assessment on acquiring management of the property—but the bathroom attached to the master bedroom was almost the size of the bedroom itself and she might consider remodelling. She made a sound of agreement and almost ran to the front door. The bare wood grain and fragments of yellow paint were warm beneath her fingers, the spring sunshine drenching the cottage in a warmth which felt like home.

“You’re happy?” asked Ted, though he looked as though he already knew the answer.

Tonks nodded. “I’ll tell you where it is, just, once we’ve had a few days to settle in.”

“Settle in?” said Lucius. “Is that what they’re calling it these days?”

“Without anyone knowing where you are?” asked Andromeda.

“They’ve earned it,” said Ted, quietly. His smile was gentle as he took in his daughter and the man he suspected she really was sure of. They seemed to fit together and there was an ease, despite the anxieties running riot through her, which he couldn’t remember seeing in too long.

“And anyway,” said Narcissa, “you can’t judge.” The slight teasing tone, which almost seemed to have surprised Narcissa when it fell from her lips, brought Andromeda’s head whipping around. Narcissa smirked. “I seem to recall you lived in sin for a while, too.”

Andromeda’s lips parted at the shock of Narcissa’s words.

With her mother distracted, Tonks blew a kiss to her father, and almost running she led Snape back down the garden path.

Past the boundaries, she held his hand tight and Disapparated.

They Apparated to a small track which led to a gate hidden amongst ivy in a long brick wall that stretched several feet above them. The blue skies of earlier in the day were giving way to dark clouds on the horizon. 

In the kitchen of Rowan Cottage, the suggestion of a tour died on her lips and she fumbled for his hand. He caught glimpses of different rooms as she led him through dark hallways and up stairs. There was work to be done, and had he been looking, he would have seen the small things which rendered the price of the cottage lower. She took him into a bedroom where there was a large oak bed laden with plump pillows and made up with fresh cotton sheets. Soft blankets sat on a wooden chest by the footboard. The wallpaper needed replacing. The woodwork needed repainting. The cracks in the tiles around the fireplace were almost invisible as the room was plunged further into darkness by the gathering clouds.

All that mattered was her turning to look at him.

There was a distant rumble in the skies, and as he stepped closer to her she stepped back towards the bed. A smile tugged at her mouth then disappeared when he was against her.

A year of uncertainty. Weeks of waiting. She licked her lips and drew in a hesitant breath. All the time spent wrestling with forgetting him, now she knew he could stay. They could just be. She searched his eyes and wondered what was holding her back. Wondered how they would make up for everything which had been lost. Everything the war had done to them.

Rain began to pelt the windows as the rumbling of thunder came closer.

Her hands drifted to the hem of her top. It didn’t take long for their clothes to be strewn across the floorboards. Then she turned away, climbed onto the bed and lay down in the middle, arm outstretched in a quiet request for him to join her. Bodies changed by war. New scars. Different curves and edges. The other still the person they'd longed for never knowing if they could return to one another. He knelt between her legs and slowly brought himself closer until his body was against hers. One hand propping himself up and fingers stretching to stroke her cheek, the other in each touch trying to see if he had remembered her properly. 

She brought his left arm up and pressed her lips to his Dark Mark. Then there was a crack of lightning. The room briefly illuminated, she flinched, her body running with tension beneath him. A rumble of thunder seemed to sink into the ground and reverberate through the foundations of the cottage. He stroked her hip and she pulled up her knees, resting her feet on his back as his hand traced further around her body and between her legs. Lips pressed to necks, shoulders, jaws. Gasped breaths betraying the agony of waiting for more. For teasing to give over to satisfaction. For the promise that this wasn't the last time.

Beneath her fingertips there were new scars amongst the old. Wounds still healing. His pounding heart. Her hand lingered on his body and she moaned against his mouth. Weeks since the war had ended, yet this was the first time they had the chance to do more than steal kisses.

“I hated you,” she whispered, her voice catching.

He didn’t try to apologise but he met her gaze and his fingers eased away to rest against her. How many mornings had she woken, and in those precious moments between sleep and waking, wondered for a moment if he was there with her, if she could get to see him after nightfall. Her hand drifted lower, fingers spreading across his body as they both moved. It came easily, even after being ripped apart for a year. The small touches which were a request. The nudges which meant, I’m ready, are you? The kiss in response, the movement of hips, the tightened grasp of a hand.

A nervous ripple of energy swept over her as if she might still wake up and realise it was a dream. The nightmares during the war had torn her from sleep on many a night. The dreams which morning ripped her from were a cruel kind of grief in their own right.

He groaned as she took him in her hand and began to guide him. Her breath caught, and that was when she knew they had really survived. No dream. No nightmare. Real, real, real. Bringing her hand back up, she tightened her legs around him and stroked his cheek as he pressed his lips to her neck.

Tonks went to Poppy’s Hogsmeade cottage with trepidation. She knocked on the door and stared at the flowers which grew in boxes on the window sills. Delicate blooms which sat quietly amongst a flurry of green leaves. Snapped stalks visible where a bundle had been harvested to brew healing potions.

Poppy answered the door and embraced Tonks. Before she could get the words out, Poppy was telling her that Snape was going to recover. Tonks held onto Poppy and screwed up her eyes, desperate not to cry on the doorstep. Spinner’s End was razed by Death Eaters before they could all be rounded up, and with nowhere else to go, Poppy said Snape could stay at her Hogsmeade cottage. He didn’t need treatment from St Mungo’s and every day Aurors were hauling Daily Prophet reporters from the hospital. He could stay with her. Everyone including Snape knew better than to argue.

Poppy whispered encouragement to Tonks, then pulled away and held the door open. Tonks wrapped her arms around herself and walked inside. Poppy stepped around her and went down the hall. She looked into a room then back at Tonks, said she had errands to run and would be out for an hour or so. Then she left the cottage, pausing to squeeze Tonks’s hand before she closed the front door behind herself.

Tonks stared at the doorway, sunlight glancing off the painted wood. Her slow footsteps were muffled by an old rug. 

Snape was lying on a sofa. Propped up by half a dozen cushions and covered in several crocheted blankets of the kind Poppy always used to keep in the hospital wing. 

They looked at each other through the dust motes illuminated by late spring sunshine. He watched her gaze travelling over his body. Watched her breathe his name. She strode across the space between them and sunk to her knees. Carefully taking his face in her hands, she leant closer, then hesitated.

Her lips an inch from his. The past year being ripped up. Torn apart by everything new. Being pulled back together by what she remembered. By what she knew was true.

He murmured her name and she pressed her lips to his. Only for a moment. A moment was all she needed. She rested her forehead against his and gasped for breath as sobs ricocheted through her. With clumsy movements, he managed to get his arms around her. Adrenaline and potions carried him through the battle. Poppy was still treating the aftermath.

Tonks tried to kiss Snape again but was shaking too much. Her head against his, he nudged her side. There was enough space for them both, he said. She raised her head and wiped her face with her sleeve. He nudged her again and managed to pull back the blankets. Being careful of his injuries, she clambered onto the sofa and lay beside him. She pulled the blankets back over them both, apologising with rushed words when he winced. His cold hand on her cheek was all the encouragement she needed and she pressed her lips to his. He deepened the kiss and she felt the first real tendrils of warmth for a year. The first fragments of peace.

Poppy came back to find them sound asleep. They were too exhausted to pay heed to her footsteps or the heavy sigh upon seeing them together again. When they did wake to find her sitting in her armchair drinking tea, she got straight to the point and asked them when they were going to find their own place together. Snape admitted he had no desire to return to Hogwarts, and with Spinner’s End razed, he had nowhere else to go. Poppy knew the only place resembling home for Tonks was her parents’ cottage. Poppy cast a charm on the crochet hook beside her which was making progress on a blanket, and different stitches began to form. They had fought a war. Now it was time for somewhere they could call their own. Poppy went through to the kitchen to make another pot of tea.

Somewhere of their own? They might have acquired injuries, but their Gringotts vaults were healthy. There used to be nights where the what ifs were allowed to exist quietly, if only for a few minutes. And there was little else they had wanted. Little else they could bring themselves to dream of. It would have to have a garden, she said. And a bathroom with a bathtub big enough for two.

His fingers intertwined with hers. Room for a potions lab, he said. And yes, a bathtub big enough for two. Her tired laugh plunged through his veins and he pulled her close. Her smiling lips found his. Poppy coughed delicately and Tonks buried her face in Snape’s shoulder. Still shaking slightly, he wrapped his arms around her. 

The storm filled the sky and didn’t let up in threatening to turn day into night. The air crackled with electricity and rumbles of thunder cascaded around them. Flashes of light broke through the darkness and the world beyond the bedroom was obscured by the rain thrashing against the windows.

For all the strength which had returned to them, neither sought to hurry. Their world was rendered in sound. Strikes of lightning. Rain searching for a way in and finding none. Glass, brick, slate. Gusts of wind howled with frustration down the chimneys. She tried to speak but her words were lost to wanting his lips on hers. To the sounds he elicited from her. To getting lost in the sensation of his body against hers. No matter that they took the time to savour the other, that haste was the furthest thing from their minds, the relentless summer heat meant the sheets were soon damp with sweat.

A swell of pleasure wrought a moan from her. He kissed her neck and her hands drifted down from his shoulders to grip his arms. She met his dark gaze which had been darting to her lips with each whimper that slipped from her. His rhythm changed just enough that she knew he realised how close she was. Knew he remembered her tells, even after a year apart. She pressed her feet into his back and squeezed her legs. A thrill raced through her when a smile graced his lips as she took his face in her hands. 

Her lips on his, her fingers sought the thin strip of leather keeping his hair tied back. A quick tug and his black hair tumbled down. He deepened the kiss as she dropped the leather strip and ran her fingers through his hair which had grown even longer over the past year.

A bolt of lightning drenched the room in light before plunging them back into the dark. There were no words for the thunder to drown out. There was only a tension which caressed her whole body, her back arching as he elicited the smallest whimpers from her. Sounds drawn out until they fell into gasps as she was left reeling from the chaos of what she had feared she might not have with him again. Ripples of pleasure chased through her aching muscles as he kissed her neck. His heavy breaths hot against her skin, his back growing tense beneath her arms, she grasped his shoulders more tightly. His movements all but halted, she could feel him pulsing, and his muffled grunt against her neck elicited another moan from her as tensions were sparked again.

He moved slowly again until they had ridden out the last waves of pleasure. She eased her legs from around him and he rolled onto his back, pulling her close. She stretched against him and he gave a low laugh which sank into a sigh as he rubbed his face. He stroked her cheek and searched her soft brown eyes. Her hand traced along his arm until her fingers intertwined with his.

Strands of pink hair were still stuck to her flushed cheeks. He thought of all the invisible scars he had caused, all the new ones gracing her body which he had yet to memorise. She was alive. They had made it through the war. She was murmuring his name and it wasn’t a dream. Then she was guiding their hands down, brushing against both their bodies where they were pressed against each other. He knew the look in her eyes. Remembered everything which lingered around it and realised the only moment they would be able to acknowledge it again was when it couldn’t be avoided. 

She brought their hands to her abdomen and let go to rest her hand on his. “I don’t know when I’ll be ready.”

“You don’t need to.” He brought his hand up so he could put his arm around her, holding her so close he could feel the heat of the wandless charm radiating from her hand.

Her hand trailed up, fingers pressing into his body, different scars making her pause for fractions of a second until she had her arm around him. The shadows around them were as dark as night and seemed to shudder with the thunder.

“I missed you,” she said, her voice catching.

“I missed you, too.”

There was a darkness behind them which still clung on, and he would always be trying to make up for that year. And still she lay across him, her body moving with uneven breaths. She was alive and they had made it through the war. Amidst the roaring storm there was her heartbeat and when he tightened his hold on her, she said the words he had spent long nights wondering if he would hear from her again. His murmured reply brought her lips to his. Sleep could wait. For now there was possibility of peace on her soft lips and he would never tire of the taste.

“So this is home for the next few days?” said Snape, as he shut the door of the Malfoy lodge behind them.

“That can’t be champagne,” said Tonks, looking in horror at a bottle in an ice bucket on the dining table. She groaned. “Oh, Merlin.”

He put their bags on the floor and undid her cloak before taking off his own. He hung them up by the door while she took her boots off, her head darting up and looking around every few seconds. She left her boots beneath the cloaks then padded through the lodge.

Shelves surrounded a large hearth from where a roaring fire heated the ground floor. An obnoxiously large sofa took up much of the room and the stairs behind divided the space from the modern kitchen. The dining table looked simple at first glance, but as Tonks ran her fingers across the surface where the ice bucket sat, dark swirls moved beneath her fingers, rivers of silver inlaid in the wood. 

Snape left his boots beside Tonks’s, and he picked up the holdall, leaving it at the bottom of the stairs. She was going through wicker baskets when he came over and leant against the counter beside her. One of the baskets was full of pastries and fresh bread. The other held boxes of chocolates tied with thick ribbons and labels written in French.

“It’s so much worse knowing my family did this,” she said, pulling bottles out of the wine rack to find more champagne. She was sure she spotted “Malfoy” in the long looping script on the yellowing labels.

“Quite.” He looked in the cooling cabinet to find several punnets of strawberries and jugs of cream among the other food.

He closed the cooling cabinet and she wandered back to him, her gaze drifting to the ice bucket. Condensation ran down the neck of the bottle. He reached for her hand and she leant against him.

“Can I just eat my way through this weekend?” she asked.

“If you want to.” He put his arms around her. “You do this differently every year.”

She breathed his name and closed her eyes.

The ceiling of her childhood bedroom was burned into her mind. In some ways, that December was harder than the first. In her parents’ cottage, she knew to expect the heavier grief. But he wouldn’t be there. She was in hiding, he was headmaster of Hogwarts. The second anniversary of her August due date was lost in the whirlwind of going into hiding. Four months later, she crept outside and stood in the snow. Found the Little Bear lumbering across the darkness, and wondered if he ever glanced at the night’s sky with thoughts of her gaze being drawn to the North Star nestled within. Hundreds of miles were nothing compared to the war between them. Opposing sides and still she believed there was more. There had to be. She knew who he could be. Knew that couldn’t be an act. It couldn’t. If it was, then who was she? But then, what did it matter? No one but them knew. No one except Poppy, who Tonks trusted to keep her silence. Hiding her pain behind silencing charms, metamorphosing, and the grief which came with every bit of news they gleaned about the losses in the war, Tonks lost herself to dreams which slid into nightmares when she realised his arms weren’t around her. 

He murmured her name and stroked her back. It always happened around this time of year. He would watch as her attention wandered. Her mind drifting out on the waves and swells of memories. She huffed and met his gaze. 

She pressed her lips to his for a moment and rested her head against his. “Would it be awful if we just went straight to bed? My appetite’s Disapparated.”

He stroked her back. “Come on, let’s see where the bedroom is in this wretched place, then.”

Taking her hand, he led her towards the stairs and picked up the holdall. They debated placing Galleons on whether or not there would be rose petals on the bed. The bare treads of the staircase led them straight into a large room. There were no rose petals on the bed, but the black silk sheets made Tonks snort with laughter and she went to investigate the bedside cabinets. Snape left the holdall near the chest of drawers, glancing at the hearth which was only a little smaller than the one downstairs. 

Tonks swore and Snape turned in time to see her slam a drawer shut. He raised an eyebrow and she shook her head as she came towards him.

“That’s not the only silk,” she muttered, as snow began to sweep past the windows.

She took his hand and led him towards the door at the other side of the room. Pushing it open, they found a large bathroom. Candlelight from the chandeliers at either end of the room flickered around them, and a large roll top bathtub sat in the middle of the room on great clawed feet. A small table was beside it with a wicker basket on top. Tonks looked at Snape and he shrugged. They went over and he sat on the edge of the tub while she opened the basket. 

One by one, Tonks took out different vials, bottles, and jars. Some were like works of art, and she paused to run her fingers across the intricate patterns. There were labels stuck to bottles and others had labels tied on with twine or ribbon. Oils from which the scent might turn the bathroom into a small paradise while smoothed across bodies. Potions to ease aching muscles. There were jars full of leaves and flowers which could be poured into steaming waters to aid in eliciting pleasure. Some of the labels carried instructions. The suggestions were at times subtle and other times explicit. One jar had a label with small illustrations which Tonks looked at and immediately handed to Snape. If she had to look at it, he could, too. He took the jar from her, and she laughed when he glanced at the label and grimaced before handing it back to her.

Tonks then held out a large vial which had two labels. One was smoothed across the glass and had the potion name and instructions printed neatly upon it. The other, written in a long looping script, was tied on with black ribbon. “I think this is meant to be for you.”

Snape took the vial from her. The label which was tied on read: For my oldest friend.

The word “oldest” was underlined in sharp strokes of ink. 

“How fond are you of your uncle?” he asked.

“Teddy adores him.” She bit her lip and waited for him to meet her gaze. “And anyway, we both know you don’t need it.”

He stood up, and slipping his arms around her, he dropped the vial back in the basket. He pressed his lips to her neck and she moaned softly.

“No gifts for you,” he said.

Her moan slid into a heavy sigh. She held up the vial with a label addressed to her in Narcissa’s writing which she had spotted after finding the one from Lucius. 

Snape murmured her name and she put the vial back in with the others, the clinking glass too loud in the room. 

“I’m fine,” she said, grateful when he didn’t challenge what they both knew was a lie. 

He stroked her belly. “Come on, let’s go to bed.”

He took her hand and led her back through into the bedroom. She extinguished the lamps, leaving only the glow of the fire which strayed across the black silk making the bed appear almost as it were smouldering coals.

While she began to take off her clothes, he got their pyjamas out of the holdall. She sat on the bed, half undressed, fumbling with her thick socks. When she swore, he came over and knelt between her legs. She sank forward, her arms around his neck. He stroked her bare back and neither of them spoke. Instead the blizzard became fiercer as it gusted around the lodge, and the wood cracked as it burned in the fire. Her feet sank into the deep pile of the rug and she pushed against the floor, her body tensing as her grip on him tightened. Then the tension collapsed as he held her tighter. She eased herself up and rested her forehead against his. She stole a kiss then tugged on his top. He raised his arms and she lifted the heavy cotton from him, putting it on the bed beside her. When she stood, he kissed her belly before getting up.

Once they were in their pyjamas, they put their wands on the bedside tables beside the small vases of roses, and got into bed. Snape threw some of the smaller pillows onto the floor and was still arranging the others when Tonks nudged his shoulder. He lay down and turned to look at her.

“Severus,” she said, torn between horror and laughter, “there are mirrors on the ceiling.”

Snape glanced up and swore. Above them were mirrors, each several feet across, arranged like tiles to cover the entirety of the ceiling but for the edges where the cornicing touched the smooth plaster. He reached for his wand and enchanted several of the silk sheets—which were folded in a pile on top of the chest of drawers—to cover the mirrors, pinning them at the corners so they draped in great swathes. Without the mirrors to reflect the firelight, they were plunged into a deeper darkness, and he put his wand back. 

He put his arms around her once she was settled against him, except they both found themselves sighing and fidgeting in the prickly warmth of the bed. Tonks propped herself up and glanced at the fire. It was certainly big enough to keep the room comfortably warm, and with the blizzard raging outside, that was no mean feat. But nonetheless, the bed was too warm.

“They wouldn’t,” she said, pushing the bedcovers back.

“They would,” he said, making the words sound like expletives.

She groaned and leaned across the bed, eventually having to crawl across the expanse of mattress to get to her wand, having been curled up against him. He was sitting up when she came back to him. He had pulled off his top and was rubbing his face when she began to cast charms on the bed, trying to find a way around the magic.

“Tied to the lodge?” he asked, when she put her wand down and fell back against the pillows, her hands on her face.

“Yes,” she mumbled. “I think it might even be with blood magic.”

“I suspect that wasn’t for our benefit.”

She laughed and her hands fell back against the pillows. “Given the mirrors, I think keeping the bed permanently warmed is definitely a feature, and not just for us.”

“Indeed.”

Her gaze drifted from the black silk draped above them to meet his dark eyes watching her. She reached out, her fingers tracing across the scars on his body. When she raised her hips, he eased the pyjamas down until they were around her thighs. He moved to kneel beside her and gently pulled the pyjamas down her legs and off over her feet. He got out of bed, picking up his top and putting it on the chair with her pyjama bottoms before taking off his own. When he turned back, she was sitting up with her top off. He reached across the bed and she handed the soft cotton to him.

Getting back into bed, the sheets no longer felt too warm. The blizzard and the fire cut through any notion of silence and he pulled the bedcovers up over them both. Her body was thick with tiredness, and she rested her head on his shoulder and curled up. One of her legs between his, her body half across him. Her hand sought his, and their fingers intertwined as their bare bodies were entangled in the warm comfort of each other. He held her close and she tried to focus on his breathing and his heartbeat. Constants which the snow and flames couldn’t give her. Constants she had sought in constellations, cauldrons, and coffee mugs in the year they had been apart. 

“Tomorrow,” she whispered.

“I know.” He pressed his lips to her hair then murmured again, “I know.” 

The orange glow from the fire danced across the woven strands of silk above them. She would fall asleep before dawn, he knew that. But otherwise he measured time in her breaths and the heaviness of her body against him. The way her leg moved when she began to drift off, her fingers slipping from his as her grasp was loosened by the gentle tug of slumber. She stretched slightly to press herself against him and he held her close. When she was still but for the slow rise and fall of her chest, he closed his eyes, struggling against the urge to want to watch over her. Just for the night. Just to know he would be awake if she stirred from a nightmare.


	3. Chapter 3

Sitting on the bed in the headmaster’s quarters, he stared at the fire for hours before going through to the office and flinging open the windows. The cold didn’t matter. He just wanted the night’s sky where constellations blanketed the world in a reminder that the darkness could be navigated. He found the North Star and tried to pretend he could remember her voice telling him about the Little Bear. Her laugh. He could remember her laugh. Which wasn’t so much a sound as the turn of her body in his arms. Her bright eyes and easy smile. A happy sigh as she leant against him. Ursa Minor, she conceded. Before protesting that Little Bear was more appropriate for the constellation beside Draco. And that fragment of her joy pierced deeper knowing it would be the furthest thing from what she was feeling. There was part of him that wanted to think she might find a kind of comfort in the distance between them given how his loyalties appeared. He resigned himself to knowing his loyalties didn’t matter. The night would hurt her either way. 

Flurries of snow barrelled past Snape into the office, and he ignored the complaints of the portraits even as he felt the chill beginning to settle on him. He closed his eyes as the cold swept over him as if in a caress, and his memory granted him the moment she told him what he already knew, but for the first time meant something from her lips: that of all the creatures in the sky, the Little Bear was the one who could guide you home. She knew what home could be, and there were times when he believed her. Times he thought he might understand. He murmured apologies to the night then turned away and the windows closed of their own accord. He returned to the bedroom where the fire roared and there were no constellations. Something resembling sleep tried to approach him, but he saw each hour pass on the clock which hung above the fireplace until his eyes closed for the barest stretch of time before he was due to wake.

Snow hit the windows like shards of stone and Tonks woke gasping for breath. Fumbling with the sheets which slid against her fingers, she pushed herself up and Snape’s hand fell to her lap. She grabbed fistfuls of the black silk and a shiver raced down her spine. The fire had burned low and her gaze darted around as the fragments of nightmare fell away and she remembered where they were. The winds rolling off the mountains and across the loch howled past the lodge. She placed one of her hands on his then realised her wand was beside her. She stoked the fire with a quick incantation and as the bracelet slid back against her wrist a sob fell from her lips. His hand pressed against her as he murmured her name.

Rumbles of thunder shaking the cottage to its foundations, the night torn apart by storms, they lunged for wands only to remember there was no war, no curses flying through the air. Stirred from sleep, other desires stirred in them as they set their wands aside. The rain hammering down around them, the sultry nights meant they were soon pushing the sheets off the bed. The lightning sought paths through the sky and they found paths back to each other. To breathe, to kiss, to say with a touch what words couldn’t. 

Heart pounding, Tonks scrambled up. She pushed her hair back from her face which was sticky with sweat. The nights were unrelenting as August beckoned. Snape stroked her leg and she put her hand on his. The shock of the nightmare ebbed and flowed through her, and she clutched her forehead. The summer had brought with it a sickly heat that would now and again strike her with queasiness. When they weren't working on the cottage or garden, she was usually trying to cool off in the large bathtub.

“I'll be back in a minute,” she said, as she got out of bed.

She picked up his t-shirt, which was on the back of the armchair by the empty fire, and pulled it on. He watched her leave the room, wand in hand, her plaited hair coming loose. 

Standing at the kitchen sink, she threw up again. The cold ceramic a shock against her clammy skin. Turning on the tap, she brought handfuls of water to her mouth then grabbed the clean cloth she’d got from the linens cupboard, and wiped her face. She glanced at the door when she heard him come into the room. His footsteps on the creaking floorboards and stair treads had been lost to the rain thrashing against the windows and obscuring the darkness beyond. His hair was tied back and he’d put on pyjama bottoms which were slung low about his hips. She stared at the mottled panes of glass above the sink where a scattered orange glow flickered from the candles around the room. He came up behind her, his hands on her hips as another retch threatened her but came to nothing. She leant back, pressing herself against him, and groaned.

“This heat is getting to me, that's all,” she said.

“How long have we been living together?” he asked, quietly. He didn’t understand why, of all the sounds which could be, her retching was ingrained with such precision in his memory.

“A couple of months?” 

“I could be wrong.” His hands slid slowly down to her abdomen, the bandages on his arm brushing against her.

Her hands rushed to his. “No.” She didn’t need to do the maths. Didn’t need to count the days. She grabbed her wand from the counter then brought her hand to her mouth. Her head bowed and her eyes screwed up.

It was only as she snuck into the castle that the quiet sense of something bothering her finally fell into place. In his quarters, her quiet admission danced in the low firelight: her period was late. He asked if she knew one way or the other and she shook her head. He undid her cloak and robes, and she kicked off her boots. The silence between them one which swelled with uncertainty and possibilities. Sitting on the bed, their legs outstretched on the thick winter duvet, he put his arm around her and she leant against him. She kept raising her wand then turning her head towards him. He kissed her hair and told her she would have to do it eventually. Before the white glow could fade, she burst into tears and he held her close. In little more than a week, the tears of shock turned to ones of grief. Poppy was the only one who knew, and she would check on Tonks, taking care of her during the days which followed while Snape had to teach and see to his house, stopping by his quarters whenever he could.

A gust of rain slammed against the kitchen window and a crack of lightning made Tonks jump. Snape held her close and she shoved her wand into his hand.

“I can’t do it,” she said, her voice catching.

He stroked her belly as he lifted her t-shirt up, his hand settling beneath her breasts while his other hand held her wand against her abdomen. Her hands were behind her neck and he pressed his lips to her fingers.

“Ready?” he asked.

She shook her head and sniffed. “Just—just do it.”

The white glow appeared and her cry was almost a shout. He threw her wand onto the counter in time to catch her as she sagged in his arms. He held her close. Her choked cries, the gasps and sniffs. Sharp reminders of when he hadn’t been there. When pressed, Poppy would only tell him that Tonks got through those times the best she could. 

The blizzard threatening to drown out his voice, he said her name again and he nudged her belly. Slowly, he pulled her closer and her arms snaked around his neck as they lay back down. Every so often a hiccoughing cry would burst out of her and her whole body would shake. He stroked her back and pressed his lips to her neck when the words wouldn’t come. 

Her damp cheek resting against his, she kicked the silk sheets away and slowly scrambled to sit up. She looked around the room until she found the clock sitting on the mantelpiece. The timepiece could have taken pride of place in a museum. The face was inlaid with materials from animals extinct and endangered, and edged with precious stones. The finely crafted silver hands showed it was only the early hours.

Looking around the bed, the black sheets rumpled and pillows strewn everywhere, her gaze came eventually to rest on him as he sat up beside her.

“There are lots of books downstairs,” she said, quietly, slipping her hand in his.

He kissed her shoulder and squeezed her hand. “Come on.”

They got back into their pyjamas, and he picked up their wands while she slipped on his shirt.

Once they were downstairs she couldn’t stifle the yawn any longer, and she rubbed her eyes as they approached the large sofa which had several exquisitely woven blankets and delicately sewn quilts draped over the back. 

“I thought these weren’t legal anymore,” she said, glancing down at the soft tufts of pure white as they stepped onto the large rug.

“I’m sure Lucius has papers classifying it as an antique.”

They came to a halt in front of the shelves, and he pulled her close and kissed her cheek before searching the titles in front of them. He swiftly found an old tome on which the binding had long since begun to fade. Retreating to the sofa, Snape sank back against the cushions while Tonks got up again. She moved like a kneazle trying to get comfortable until he said her name. Kneeling beside him, she pawed at her eyes then grabbed a small velvet cushion which she put on his lap. Ignoring the quiet thud of a blanket sliding to the floor, she reached for the heaviest expanse of rich fabric and he took it from her while she lay down. Her head on his lap, hands curling around the edges of his top, she closed her eyes as he draped the blanket over her. 

With a simple charm, the book was levitating in front of him, and he kept his hands on her. One stroking her pink hair, the other on her waist. He read aloud, carrying on even when her breaths began to get heavier, until she tugged on his top. The action was clumsy, and in the firelight, he could see her eyes were still closed.

“Lie down,” she mumbled. “You need to sleep.”

Taking the book from the air, he placed it on the rug before getting up. She was moving over when he lifted the blanket and he waited for her to stop before he lay down beside her. She opened her eyes briefly and grappled with his top until she could get her hand beneath the heavy cotton, her fingers spreading across his scars. He stroked her cheek and her deep exhale seemed to wrap around them both. She turned her head to press her lips to his hand, then she sank against him and he knew she was about to give herself over to sleep.

He adjusted the blanket and tucked it around them as best he could before putting his arm around her. With the fire crackling in the large hearth, shadows danced around them and he watched the flickers of light which reached her. The orange glow distorted by the rich fabrics surrounding them and making her pink hair appear like the jets of light formed by an incantation. Her lips parted with deeper breaths and her hand slid gently across his back. The warmth cocooning them began to work its way through his tense muscles until he stopped fighting the urge to stay awake.

Tonks woke with a start, and as soon as she moved, Snape’s hand was stroking her back. The previous day swept over her and a wave of queasy realisation surged through her body. Eyes closed, she turned her head to the cushion, the soft velvet brushing against her skin. It was as though she had just Apparated. As though she might fall down though she lay against the man who was her safe place. Keeping her eyes closed, she slowly slipped her arms around his neck, giving him the time to move. He pulled her close and she rested her forehead against his.

“Do you think Teddy slept well?” Her whisper danced amongst the smouldering flames and the gentle snowfall hitting the windows. “The weather was awful last night.”

“If he isn’t sound asleep, he’s probably got your father making pancakes and hot chocolates.” Snape’s hand slowly drifted up Tonks’s back as he rubbed circles over her tense muscles. Teddy had been born during a storm and would run towards windows to watch lightning strikes. He was fascinated by the world’s capacity to tear itself apart.

“I wonder if he made dad check on the plants.”

“No doubt with your mother in tow.” 

There was a sapling which lived in the kitchen of Tonks Cottage, despite being inches from touching the ceiling, because Teddy knew it got scared by bad weather and he had demanded it be brought indoors the previous winter. More than once Tonks had found her mother threatening the young tree with a spatula when it began to get too comfortable near the heat of the stove.

When Tonks propped herself up with Snape’s help, she saw the drifts of snow pressed up against the windows and the firelight reflected in the glass. The sky was an inky black and when she glanced at the clock, she realised sunrise was still hours away. 

She leaned across him and he slid onto his back as he stopped her from toppling off the sofa while she stretched to grab her wand from the floor. She stoked the fire with an incantation then dropped her wand onto the rug. She eased herself back and waited for him as he adjusted the blanket and settled on his side again. Her lips found his. Slow kisses which didn’t become anything else because they were all they needed to be.

They drifted in and out of sleep. Each time she stirred, he was there waiting for her. She would blink heavily, find his mouth for the briefest moment, then close her eyes. Sometimes stretching against him, sometimes finding her grasp on his pyjamas. His hand on her back, soft strokes as her breaths settled again, then closing his eyes. Flickers of years past drifting through his mind as he went back to sleep.

The sun was beginning to rise when she rubbed her face and stretched, kicking a cushion onto the floor. She turned to look at him and found the dark gaze which had been waiting for her each time she woke through the night. Her hand on his neck, her fingers drifted up to tangle in his hair and she brought herself closer. Just for the brief press of her lips against his. Seven years since their beginning, and a year apart. She was never sure how to mould that missing year into their relationship. It never quite fit, yet taking it away didn’t work, either. She pushed back his black hair which he still kept long. She needed him and lost herself in his kiss until he pulled away and rested his forehead against hers.

“Just how long do you think you can ignore your stomach rumbling?” he asked, gently.

She groaned and turned her head towards the cushion. He kissed her neck and was pulling away again when she said, “Don’t stop.” The plea was quiet, unlike her stomach.

He kissed her neck again, then said, “I’m going to get food.”

She gave a resigned laugh and he got up off the sofa. Gathering the blanket around her, she stood up and wandered over to one of the windows. After a couple of attempts, she got comfortable on the window seat and pulled the blanket close around her which still left huge swathes of it spread across the floor. They hadn’t drawn the curtains the night before, and with the sun coming up Tonks could see the loch properly as it stretched towards the horizon flanked by mountains. Occasionally a breeze would drift past, disturbing the flurries as if someone had kicked up the snow. The lone trees were coated white. The kettle whistled and she could hear Snape getting mugs out of the cupboard. 

The levitating tray of food and drinks preceded Snape. Tonks picked up her tea and he took his coffee before sitting down on the other side of the window seat and putting his wand down beside hers. She wrestled with the blanket until she had pulled it up over his lap. At his murmured thanks, she smiled and leant back, cradling the hot mug against her body. 

She tried not to look surprised when he picked up a bowl of berries from the tray but he arched a brow and she laughed. She took a sip of tea before putting the mug on the window sill, then reached for the plate with a croissant and pain au chocolat, and balanced it on her lap. The croissant was warm and she tore off a small piece from the end. She looked at the flakes of pastry falling to her lap and closed her eyes.

“You can vanish the mess once you’re finished,” he said, quietly.

She drew in a deep breath and nodded, then she opened her eyes and began to eat. He picked at the berries in between mouthfuls of coffee and said nothing as she continued to tear off small pieces of croissant.

By his standards, he was having a big breakfast. He made an effort around Teddy but she knew how easily he fell back into old habits. How much it bothered him if the pantry was less than full.

If Teddy asked for food, Snape would drop everything and start preparing whatever Teddy had asked for. She would often find Teddy trying to help as he stood on a chair beside his father. At other times, Snape would lift Teddy up onto the counter and Teddy would simply help himself to food as it was prepared. Whenever Tonks mentioned food, Snape would be on his way to the kitchen before stopping to check if she was actually hungry.

The garden of Rowan Cottage had significant land given over to food. And several patches were dedicated to berries. The theory had been they could be used to make preserves. The reality was that once Teddy was old enough, he and Draco tended to strip the berries from the branches quicker than the birds could. Andromeda had suggested warding the plants, but neither Tonks nor Snape could bring themselves to. Narcissa had pointed out that Draco’s habit was lifelong. Draco’s argument was that gooseberries made for excellent practice snitches and Teddy agreed with Lucius that the berries were yummy and therefore ought to be eaten. It was Ted who reminded everyone that Tonks Cottage had enough berries each year to make plenty of preserves for everyone in the family. And so Teddy and Draco were left to practice quidditch and eat their fill of berries in peace. 

She wasn’t quite sure when she had finished the croissant and started eating the pain au chocolat, only that she was licking chocolate from her fingers then looked in confusion at the pastry in her hand. He was smiling gently when she glanced at him. Half his bowl of berries was gone and he was finished with his coffee.

She put the plate and the last of the pain au chocolat back on the tray and he put his bowl back, too. She vanished the mess of pastry flakes then chewed her lip as she looked out across the water which glowed with morning light.

“I want a bath,” she said.

He put the mugs back on the tray, and with a flick of his wand, sent the tray back to the kitchen counter. He took her hand and stood up.

“Are you taking the blanket with you?” he asked.

She blinked heavily and looked at the densely woven black fabric which she hadn’t realised had delicate patterns woven into it of serpents vying to stretch and intertwine with one another. She shook her head and when she stood up he took the blanket and slung it over the back of the sofa as they headed towards the stairs.

With the taps running, Snape went through the basket of vials on the table beside the bath. Every so often he would come across one and pour the contents into the running water. Tonks pulled off her pyjamas and put them on one of the chairs by the window. She could feel the magic in the glass which meant anyone could see out but no one could see in. She lingered by the window and watched birds swoop down over the loch. The taps stopped running and she turned around to find him sitting on the edge of the bath watching her. He had stoked the fire, too. She walked over to him and reached for the hem of his top. Once he was undressed she put her arms around him and he stroked her back while she watched clouds pass lazily above the mountains.

There were often times when she wanted to retreat to the bath on her own, but when she wanted him she made her desire clear. He got into the bath first, then she settled between his legs and leant against him. His arms around her, the rise and fall of her chest pushed gently against him. Her hands rested on his thighs, the bracelet pressing gently against his skin, and she closed her eyes. The fire crackled and there was the occasional swish of water. After a time, black streaks began to flicker through her pink hair. Whether she was thinking of him or Teddy, he didn’t know. Only that she was searching for peace. For safety.

She would retreat to the bathtub when she was pregnant, the water giving her relief that she couldn’t find anywhere else. In the bathroom of Rowan Cottage, she would ask him to stay. As winter rattled around the windows and icicles formed on the lintel, she would rest against him in the water. A fire blazed in the renovated hearth, and no matter how hard the blizzards gusted, the room was never cold. The plasterwork was still to be finished and the debate was ongoing as to whether or not to fix the cornicing. The intricate ceiling rose was still intact and from it hung a simple metal chandelier. They didn’t always light the candles, however, and sometimes all she wanted was what quiet the fire and the bath could give her. And him. She wanted him. 

Knowing his caution, she would bring his hands across her body. Would whisper the reassurances she knew he needed. Her slow breaths would quicken at times and at others would fall into deep sighs. His name on her lips. Her request he help her out of the bath. Then he was wrapping her in warm towels.

She climbed onto the bed. On all fours, her fingers spreading across the sheets, she arched her back against the ache which never left as the weeks progressed. Closing her eyes, she spread her knees further apart and let her hands slide against the sheets until her forearms were on the bed. Her hair fell past her shoulders, still damp strands catching on her skin. He knelt behind her and began to rub her back. Gentle strokes that eased some of the soreness, his hands working along the path of the scar which stretched across her. She could feel him against her thigh and she rocked her hips for a moment. One of his hands settled on the small of her back, then he was slowly guiding himself.

She panted his name and he grasped her hips more tightly before his hands were drifting to her back and reaching around between her legs, each touch slow and gentle. They basked in the slow build of pleasure until she pushed back and said his name more urgently. She knew he would only give a little more of himself for fear of harm. In its own way, his caution heightened her pleasure, his every movement a reminder of how he was her safe place. Of how in this moment, his thoughts were of her. Tension soon swept through her and her belly tightened as he wrought a deep moan from her. Moments later came his quiet grunt as he pulsed inside her.

Slowly she put her weight onto her hands, and with him still kneeling between her legs, she pushed herself up and leant against him. His arms around her, he pressed his lips to her neck. Each of them said the three words they never tired of hearing from the other. The words they still scarcely believed they had the freedom to say.

He absentmindedly stroked her belly as he rested his head on the edge of the bath and stared at the ceiling. Her breaths were steady but not quite slow enough for sleep. Every so often she would give a heavy sigh and stretch against him. The water didn’t cool—the tub charmed to stay warm—but the aromas of the potions he’d poured into the water were beginning to fade. 

She knew he would stay in the water with her for hours. It wouldn’t be the first time. But she could feel the itch to be dressed. To have his shirt on. To curl up in a different kind of warmth. She nudged his thighs then sat up and he took his arms from around her pausing only to stroke her back as she rose. Despite the warmth of the room, there was no avoiding the brief shock when getting out of the water. The towels hanging near the fire were warm, and she found herself wandering back to the window as she dried herself off. When he came up to her, she took his hand and led him back to the bedroom.

She was standing by the bed and holding his shirt. Her eyes had been fixed on the collar, then she looked up at him. “What if it happened again?” 

He picked up his top and pulled it on.

“What if my metamorphosing caused it?”

“You metamorphosed while you were pregnant with Teddy.”

He remembered how often she would catch sight of herself in a mirror and stop. Panic racing through her features as she searched for a difference. She wouldn't admit what she was looking for. She didn't need to. Even before she had a bump, her hand pressed to her abdomen, desperate for a sign everything would be okay. The healers at St Mungo’s barely knew how to handle a metamorphmagus when they presented with the simplest issues, and since Poppy knew Tonks best, it was to Poppy they turned again. 

In the wake of the white glow which changed their lives for a second time, several days passed of long hours in bed, and when the rain clouds cleared, of lying on blankets in the garden in the shade of a tree. Her hands kept drifting back to her abdomen. To taking his hand and closing her eyes while he read to her. He was several chapters into a book on ancient curses when he stopped and put the scuffed tome on the bedside table. She turned to look at him and blinked heavily. He stroked her cheek and she pressed her lips to his wrist, the edge of the bandages brushing against her skin.

“I think we should owl Poppy,” he said.

Tonks sank back against the pillows and tugged Snape’s t-shirt. She slipped her arms around his neck when he lay down beside her. His hand settled on the small of her back. They hadn’t told anyone. Perhaps because Poppy needed to be the first person they told.

“It’s been a while since she visited,” said Tonks.

Swallowing hard, she reached behind herself and fumbled for the blankets that were strewn around them and pulled one closer. He propped himself up and grabbed the big duvet at the end of the bed which was far too warm in the summer heat, but soft and cosy, and piled it on top of the other blanket. 

Birdsong drifted through the open window, and she kept adjusting the blanket and duvet until they were both covered. She stretched against him, slipping one of her legs between his and her hands beneath his t-shirt. Fingertips tracing over his scars until one of her hands was settled over his heart and the other on his back. He held her close and traced the scar on her hip.

“Rest awhile, and we can owl her this afternoon,” he said.

She searched his dark eyes then found his lips with hers. Too tired for more than the briefest kiss, she closed her eyes again. The light too bright, the weight of thoughts too much.

His gaze wandered to the clock every so often. She succumbed to sleep and he let himself doze, carried to something resembling rest by the warmth of the cocoon he knew she craved and the safety of having her close.

Poppy Apparated to Rowan Cottage only hours after their owl, Bramble, left with the letter which simply invited her to visit whenever she was free. There was a knock at the door and Snape welcomed Poppy in with an amused smile. She bustled through the room towards Tonks in a whirl of robes, dropping her large carpet bag on the floor.

“You’re pregnant,” said Poppy, taking Tonks’s hands in hers. Tonks gave a small laugh and sighed as Poppy looked her up and down, then Poppy embraced her. “It’s okay.” She rubbed Tonks’s back as Tonks began to cry. “It’s okay.”

“You used to metamorphose while you were asleep,” he said, walking over to her. So many long nights where she finally drifted off in his embrace, and he stayed awake staring at the ceiling wondering if the curses they had both endured had somehow affected their abilities to conceive. For her to carry their child. He wanted explanations, too. He wanted to take away the pain which wrapped itself around her. He took the shirt from her hands and held it up so she could put it on. “You metamorphosed when you were in labour.”

“That was different.” And as she said it, she could remember Poppy realising Teddy was a metamorphmagus, his changes mirroring her own as he was born.

Arms around each other, he kissed her cheek. “Do you even remember how much you were metamorphosing with him those first few hours after he was born?”

“When he was safe from whatever my metamorphosing might do to him.” It had happened once, and it could happen again. That was all she could come back to. Even as she thought of Teddy who had survived her. And still there was the pull, the inescapable longing, to give him a sibling. “Maybe he was only safe because he was a metamorphmagus. Maybe I can’t carry a child who isn’t one.”

“Tonks.” He held her closer as she grasped his top. The worst part was he couldn't tell her she was wrong. No one knew. How could there be no answers? 

“You didn’t get to finish the chapter you were on last night,” she said, thickly.

He stroked her back and they stood quietly for a moment before he led her downstairs. Much like in the bath, once on the sofa she settled between his legs and leant against him. Though this time she curled up gently, too. In the end, he used a charm to wrangle the expanse of blanket. He picked up the book from where it still lay on the rug beneath them beside their wands. He found his place and began to read aloud. Before he reached the end of the page, she was sound asleep. He put the book down, and with his arms around her, he closed his eyes.

A couple of hours later, when there was a knocking at the window, they both woke with a start and grabbed their wands as they jumped up from the sofa. The years since the war had done little to soften their reactions and the muscle memory of lunging for a way to protect themselves was strong. They reached for each other as they looked around for the source of the noise. 

“It’s Aquila,” said Tonks, lowering her wand and squeezing Snape’s hand. 

The golden eagle left the large window and headed towards the front of the lodge where Tonks opened the door. Aquila flew to Snape’s shoulder and cold air snuck inside. Snape swore when the raptor dug in his talons, and Aquila gave Snape what could only be described as a look of disdain while Tonks tried not to laugh.

Lucius and Narcissa had several owls at the Manor, but Aquila belonged to Narcissa and he was almost as devoted to his Mistress as he was to his mate. Tonks shivered in the cold air and glanced outside, spotting Aquila’s mate, Aphrodite, sitting on a low branch in one of the lone trees. She was never the messenger, but unless it was mating season, they always flew together.

Tonks undid the twine holding the small parcel to Aquila’s leg, and once she had relieved him of his burden, he lowered his head and allowed her to stroke him for a moment before flying off. Snape rubbed his shoulder as he and Tonks watched Aphrodite take flight and join Aquila in soaring above the loch. Tonks closed the door then handed the small parcel to Snape.

“It’s addressed to you,” she said, her eyes darting from him to the parcel.

“So it seems.” He saw his name in Narcissa’s delicate script, and with a lazy flick of his wand he stoked the fire.

He walked towards the hearth and threw the parcel into the fire. It immediately flew back out of the flames and hit his body. Tonks laughed as he grabbed the singed twine and held the twirling package as it smoked.

“Godfather to her child. I made the Unbreakable Vow with her. And still she tortures me.”

“You love Draco.”

“That’s not the point.” As he walked over to the sofa, he cast a charm to vanish the smoke and quell the threat of flames.

“You know what’s inside?” she ventured, as she sat down beside him.

“I have a hunch.”

“And?”

He turned to look at her. Bright brown eyes which were no longer red rimmed. Skin no longer blotchy. Though tiredness still clung to her, he could tell she really had managed to rest while they dozed on the sofa. She leaned closer and pressed her soft lips to his. He sunk back, shoving the parcel aside as she moved to straddle him. Her hands on his face, she kissed him again and her fingers drifted up through his hair as his hands stroked her thighs.

When she pulled away and sat back on his lap she retrieved the parcel from where it was poking out from beneath a cushion. “Severus?”

He took the parcel, and as he undid the twine he caught sight of her furrowing brow then her parted lips as the velvet box was unveiled.

“Oh,” she breathed.

“Indeed.”

He opened the box and sighed in resignation as he turned it around. She sat up straighter, her eyes darting from the ring to the bracelet on her wrist and back again.

She swallowed. “That’s—”

“Subtle?”

A laugh burst from her and she relaxed a fraction. She reached for the box then hesitated, looking at him and only carrying on when he shrugged. His hands settled on her thighs again. She couldn’t be sure, but as she held the box and turned it this way and that, she knew the ring was likely part of the parure. 

When she lifted the ring from the bed of velvet, he said, “It’s probably charmed to never come off.”

“I’m not going to put it on,” she said, gently.

She knew Narcissa had been nagging Snape to propose since she discovered they were together. Rubbing her thumb across the large emerald, she could feel the magic radiating from the stone. There were no diamonds flanking the emerald, there were only sharp edges. Sharp edges which cut straight to the point.

His gaze was fixed on her and she suspected he didn’t realise he was pressing his fingers into her. She put the ring back into the box and placed it on the sofa. There was a wariness in his eyes, a panic which she knew had roots extending through his life.

Leaning closer, she pressed her lips to his, then said, “There’s only another hour or so of daylight left, why don’t we go for a walk?”

“Yes,” he said, as if the word was threatening to choke him. “Please, yes.”

She rested her forehead against his and his hands drifted up her legs to her back. Little by little she could feel him relax beneath her. There was tension still lingering around the edges, but she could feel him coming back to her. When he buried his face in her shoulder, his breath hot against her skin, she murmured, “I’m here.” 

The world was cast in gold and they walked with no haste across the snow on the shore. A murmuration of starlings brought them to a halt, and she slipped her arms beneath his cloak, leaning against him while they watched the flickering shapes the birds created as they flew above the loch. Their breath turned to mist and he tugged his cloak around her. The night was keen to embrace them as the sunlight retreated but they were comfortably bundled up against the cold. This close to the solstice, there were only a few hours without darkness. The crescent moon hung low in the sky, the clouds appearing to hold it in place. The gold bled through rich oranges and reds while they stood listening to the ice cracking and breaking against the edge of the shore. 

Then came the pink which caressed the clouds around the moon. Touches of purple crept in at the edges but it was the pink which she loved. The pink which danced around the sunset and welcomed the night. Where red skies were burdened by delight and warning, the streaks of pink danced with the gold and curtsied to the silver. Flickers and reminders of what could exist in between. Those moments when the sunset blew a kiss to the moonrise, and before total darkness fell, there was still colour and joy. Gold wasn’t the last to leave before the night settled, it was the pink which lingered like the echo of a peal of laughter and reminded the night that the sun would return.

She nudged him and he looked away from the pink skies which he sought constantly during their year apart. The pink skies which were a fragment of her. Her lips found his and he deepened the kiss. With their hoods up and wrapped in their cloaks, they didn’t notice the light snowfall.


	4. Chapter 4

She was setting the table when she heard the whisper of a wince, not much more than a breath inhaled too sharply. But when she glanced up she could see the tension in his shoulders and she left the napkins in a pile on the table.

“Do you want me to finish chopping?” she asked, sidling up beside him. 

“I have little desire to see the wounds you would inflict on yourself as a result.” He looked over and laughed as she shoved her hand, recently scarred from an altercation with a squash, into her pocket. “Finish setting the table.”

“Already have.”

He arched an eyebrow.

“Napkins don’t count.” 

He couldn’t hide the wince this time and the blade slipped against the board. Tonks grabbed the handle and set the knife further back on the counter. He slowly wiped his hands on a cloth and took his wand out. She stood behind him, arms around his waist, and rested her chin on his shoulder while he enchanted the knife to continue chopping.

It was an old habit he couldn’t let go of. Every so often the journals would do the rounds with explosive correspondence in their pages as potioneers debated whether ingredients were best prepared by hand or by wand work. 

Snape was convinced that for all the finesse which could be achieved with a wand, nothing quite matched fingers around a hilt, the pressure against the knife as ingredients were sliced. The response through the blade and handle informing the potioneer in a way charms could never quite replicate.

And all he wanted in that moment was to prepare a meal.

There was little rhyme or reason to what triggered the pain, at least, that was what he told himself. Except he kept journals tracking when the pain had been especially bad and what he had been doing. Too much was usually the answer.

Tonks found the journals one day, having come through to the study with a coffee for Snape and a sippy cup of water for Teddy. 

Snape was holding Teddy so that they could both see clearly the wizarding map which spanned one wall while he pointed out where Draco was trying to hide from his parents with Hermione. Snape glanced back and saw Tonks standing by the desk. She put the mug and sippy cup down, then her fingers were brushing over his notes, the quick scrawls and long records beside parchments covered in Teddy's attempts at writing. Teddy realised his father’s attention had wandered and patted Snape’s shoulder. Snape gave his apologies to the toddler and suggested Teddy have a drink, then they could owl Draco. Bramble always found Teddy's godfather unlike Aquila who would return to Narcissa mysteriously well fed but with her letters to Draco undelivered.

Tonks walked around the desk, ruffling Teddy’s hair as he went to get a drink. She hooked her fingers around the belt loops of Snape’s trousers. He stroked her arms, his fingers trailing up until Teddy toddled over and Tonks picked him up. He was chewing a glowing dark detector which Tonks was about to try and take from him before meeting Snape’s gaze and realising there were better battles to pick. Snape’s mouth pulled up in a smile and he reminded her it was just a couple of the books setting off the equipment. So long as Moody didn’t find out Ministry property was being used as a teether, they were fine. That was when Tonks noticed it wasn’t one of their own dark detectors, but one she had brought back from work. She was no longer on active duty, but was one of the Aurors who Moody called upon from time to time to train new recruits. She saw the Ministry seal, saw the drool and teeth marks, and decided she would write it off as damaged equipment.

Snape had gone back to his desk and picked up a leather bound book which was edged in faded gold with the title embossed in red. Tonks followed and nudged him with her elbow. It was a book Lucius had uncovered in his searches of the Malfoy library, and which Snape had been scrutinising for weeks. The language was old and too many meanings had changed over the centuries. Both Snape and Lucius were after answers. For the most part, Lucius threw money at the problem, buying as many books on the Dark Arts as he could, while Snape scoured them for anything of use. The same threads wove themselves through what was unveiled: cursed brands were created with the intention of consequences. And the Dark Mark, they discovered, was imbued with a thread of obedience which was grim even by the standards of what scholars considered standard Dark Magic. Tonks knew that Snape and Lucius wondered if they could break down the origins of the Dark Mark and how they were branded, then there might be hope of drawing it back out.

Snape’s mouth pulled up in an empty smile. With a tone too measured he told Tonks how once again the evidence pointed to a connection which was severed by death, and well, wasn’t that the only thing which mattered? What was a stain left behind in comparison to a brand which could still burn? She searched his eyes and knew that he would bear every other curse a hundred times over to be rid of Voldemort’s claim on him. Teddy handed the dark detector to Tonks and reached for his father. Snape took the toddler’s weight on his right arm, and agreed with Teddy’s request that they send Bramble to Draco. Tonks kissed Teddy on the cheek, then Snape. She leant closer to whisper in his ear the words she knew he needed to hear and he murmured them in reply.

Her chest gently rising and falling against his back, he closed his eyes for a moment. Biting his tongue, he shoved his wand into his right hand, the spasms of pain too much even for wandwork.

“Remus owled yesterday morning.” Snape was clutching the counter. “I forgot to tell you.”

“He’s coming over next week with Sirius,” said Tonks, softly.

“What?”

“You’ve finished chopping.” She watched the ease in his wandwork. Knew he was keeping a wall between his pain and his magic, only the edges were crumbling where the two met. And still no one would notice. There was the fraction of tension in his back and she knew the knuckles on his other hand would be white. “Do you think Teddy will approve?”

Snape levitated the chopping board and the vegetables slid into the pan. Another small twist of his wand through the air and a wooden spoon was stirring in the additions to the stew. Fresh herbs washed themselves beneath the tap, separated into their different types on the board, and the knife began to chop again. 

“Probably not.” He tried to ease his grip on the counter, the pain in his hand beginning to equal that in his arm.

It had been little over a year since Teddy heard Remus mention the taste of the Wolfsbane potion, and confused as to why one of his favourite people couldn’t have a potion which tasted nice, Snape and Remus had found themselves at the mercy of Teddy and Sirius’s taste testing. Though they never drank the completed Wolfsbane, Snape was able to separate the components which gave the potion its flavour. With every new cauldron brewed, Snape gave the safe elements to Teddy and Sirius while Remus took the potion as a whole. Remus had been partial to one version which he said was almost like milky tea, but Teddy was convinced his father could make the potion taste like Remus’s favourite jam made by Andromeda, and Sirius was prevented from giving his too honest thoughts with a swift Silencing Charm from Tonks. 

Snape reached back and nudged Tonks’s hip. She stepped back and he turned around pulling her close again as he put his wand in his pocket. Wrapping his right arm around her, she slipped her hands beneath his top.

The oils from the herbs and the aroma of the hearty simmering stew filled the room. For all the fine foods which Narcissa and Lucius had provided, Snape and Tonks went through everything until they found what would make the comfort food she wanted.

She kissed his jaw, pausing when he froze and his hand pressed into the small of her back, his fingertips pushing into her muscles. A small whimper which was almost a moan slipped from her when his fingers dug in harder, and she rested her forehead on his shoulder. Her hands drifted up his body, his top catching above her wrists, until she settled against his heart. Turning her head, she pressed her lips to his neck, his jaw, his cheek. The expletives so close to exploding from him caught in the tiny movements of his face before he bit back the words. She knew he wanted control. To not give over and give in. But there was no running from this pain, no quelling it without potions which took too much from him in return.

She was against him. Standing between his legs. They were at the lodge. Teddy was with his grandparents. The litany of truths, the attempt to keep himself anchored. She was timing the kisses to his breathing, which was something she protested she never did intentionally, but he had spent too many occasions counting the seconds between each press of her lips against his skin to think it coincidental. Every bit of her was bringing him back to himself. And still there was a fire dancing in his nerves. His arm tearing with pain. 

His breathing was too measured, and she rested her cheek against his, not wanting to distract him. She closed her eyes and her mouth pulled up in a smile when he began to stroke her back in time with his breathing. After a few minutes, she slipped her arms around him as gently as she could and eased his wand from his pocket. 

“Really?” he murmured.

“Keep rubbing my back.”

She pressed herself against him as she leant around him to see the cooker and gave a small laugh at his moan which was distinctly not related to pain. A small flick of his wand reduced the heat on the hob. The chopping board tipped the herbs into the pan and a moment later the spoon rested across the top. She slipped his wand back in his pocket and put her arms around him.

He brought his left hand up to her back and tried to sink into the same pattern he’d been following when he had only one hand on her. His fingers twitched against her and she whispered his name.

“Do you think it’s ready?” he asked.

“A couple more minutes.” 

Neither of them said anything about how fifteen minutes passed before they dished up the meal and sat down. About how there were a few minutes where his breathing turned haggard. Where his fingers dug into her back and she gasped against his neck before her soft words wound around him. Soft words reminding him of the presents they still needed to buy for Christmas. Soft words which brought him back to her when all that seemed to exist in him was pain. Pain which eased to an ache. Ease which settled into a quiet of the crackling fire, the simmering pan, her breathing. Her sigh of relief which she didn’t bother trying to disguise when he started stroking her back again. Her name on his lips when she kissed his shoulder. Her lips on his. No time nor desire for apologies. 

She leant back in the chair and held the bowl of stew close to her body as she rested her feet on his lap. He arched a brow but said nothing. The stew was comfort food, and all the more so because it felt like a piece of home. She watched his hand holding the spoon halt as a judder went through his other arm. Nudging him with her foot, he stroked her leg, only to grasp her trousers when he dropped the spoon. Holding her bowl in one arm she got her wand and with a quick wave the splash was cleared up. He rubbed his face and she felt his hand ease. He stroked her leg, the movement clumsy as he picked up his spoon and began to eat again.

Twice more his arm went rigid, and his fingers pressed into her leg, but his gaze remained fixed on the stew in front of him. She kept her bowl close to her body even when she was finished, and watched him manage small mouthfuls which were interrupted every so often by sharp intakes of breath. When he finished eating, his fingers drifted beneath the hem of her trousers to stroke her bare skin. He rubbed his face again and she put her bowl on the table. At the clanking of the spoon, he looked up, glancing back and forth between her empty dish and his which was half-full.

She eased herself up, groaning slightly from how she had been sitting. “You start the washing up.”

He watched her stretch as she walked away, then she disappeared up stairs. With a couple of charms, the dishes were being washed up in the sink. He stood up and walked over to windows, extinguishing the lamps as he went, leaving the room dark but for the fire. The sun had set hours before and with another flick of his wand, the curtains drew themselves closed, and the brewing blizzard disappeared behind the heavy drapes.

She came downstairs, her footsteps light on the bare wooden treads, a small vial in her hand. The thick silver potion inside moved lazily up against the glass. She was waiting by the sofa and he hesitated for a moment then a twitch in his arm reverberated up to his shoulder. When she held out her hand he came over. He slipped his right arm around her and pressed his lips to her cheek. She hooked her fingers through the belt loops on his trousers.

Sometimes he relented immediately, at other times it could be hours before he sat down. The private war still ongoing in his head, there was no Legilimency needed to see the agony written across him. The badlands which existed between his pain and accepting relief a distance he needed her by his side in order to cross, the ease of academic curiosity slamming into a wall when faced with the damage itself. She held out her hand when she caught him turning the first vial this way and that, watching the liquid inside race to the stopper then retreat. She didn’t come towards him but waited for him to come to her. A few feet across floorboards to the doorway. A distance which felt impossible from where he stood. Running his hand through his hair, his gaze darting from her to the workbench where there was still evidence of the accident, black marks where the wood had burned. He knew she would come running if she needed to. Would wait when she needed to. He strode across the room and held out the vial. She slipped the potion in her pocket then put her arms around him. His murmured apologies were met by the quiet invitation to go through to the parlour.

A gust of snow swept against the windows. He nudged her back then sat on the sofa so she could settle between his legs and lean against him. The fire in the hearth was almost uncomfortably warm and as she stretched her shoulders, he pressed his lips to her neck. His left arm outstretched, she eased his sleeve up, unveiling the Dark Mark which was encompassed by scarred skin. The cursed brand almost illuminated where it lay not quite in the centre of the damage which extended from near his elbow to just shy of his wrist. Pouring a small amount of potion into her palm, she stoppered the vial again and tried to stretch to put it on the coffee table, only to realise she couldn’t reach. He tugged her wand from her pocket and sent the vial to the table. She laughed and turned to look at him, closing her eyes as she ducked her head and he kissed her neck again.

She spread the potion across his scarred skin, then began to massage his arm. Different aromas bloomed in the air, scents of home and from apothecaries. The grounds and the greenhouse of Rowan Cottage allowed for a range of ingredients and she knew he tried to focus on using what they could grow. Knew he put too much effort into creating potions which she would prefer the smell of compared to others. Knew he compromised the efficacy of his experiments when she was pregnant so that she wouldn’t be overwhelmed by the smells. The effects would be minimal at a passing glance, but combined with massage, the potions eased the worst of the scarring through the depths it spanned and offered a small sense of relief from what the damage had wrought.

Poppy was changing the bandages on his arm and Tonks was in her usual spot curled up beside him. Her head resting on his shoulder, she watched as Poppy uncovered the damage and began turning Snape’s arm this way and that as she cast charms and assessed how he was healing. His breathing was too measured and Tonks knew Snape was putting much of his focus into maintaining control. He still refused pain relief except for those occasions where he could barely think for the agony which seared through him, though Poppy’s current manipulation of his fingers was visibly testing his resolve. 

“Severus,” said Poppy, easing his arm down onto a pillow between them. He drew in a deep breath and tore his gaze from the cornicing to look at her. She picked up the fresh bandages and glanced at his arm. “I suppose it’s just as well you won’t take up my offer of potions because I know you can brew something far superior. Unless you were planning to order them, of course.”

Snape held Poppy’s gaze and his eyes narrowed as her gentle smile grew. Tonks laughed and he pulled her closer with his right arm around her waist. She kissed his cheek then rested her head on his shoulder again. 

“You must use something once the bandages are off,” said Poppy, reiterating the point she had been making since the day of the accident. She started to speak then stopped as she gazed across the room towards the empty fireplace. She said nothing until she looked back at him. “You are going to want as much use of that arm as you can have in a few months' time. Don’t let this injury take more from you than it already has.”

Snape closed his eyes and Poppy carried on treating his arm as he sunk further down on the sofa. Tonks got comfortable beside him again and tried to stifle a yawn. There was little other sound but for the vials clinking and bandages rustling as they were unwound. When he opened his eyes, he turned and met Tonks’s gaze, resting his forehead against hers. He stroked her belly and she sighed softly.

“Considering the apothecaries likely wouldn’t provide anything up to your exacting standards even if I were to place an order,” he said, his voice catching when Poppy raised his arm, “I suppose I could brew something.”

“An excellent point,” said Poppy, “and if you’re brewing the potion yourself, you’ll be able to experiment and tailor it to your needs.”

“It won’t need—” he said, before having to bite back a groan of pain.

“So help me, Severus,” said Poppy. “I will not listen to you trying to pretend you don’t want to research this, regardless of your feelings towards using what results.”

“I’m getting tea,” said Tonks, lightly. She kissed Snape on the cheek then got up from the sofa, his arm slipping from around her.

He watched her as she left the room, grabbing the door when she wobbled, and he tried to ignore Poppy’s quiet sigh.

“How is she really?” asked Poppy.

“She barely slept last night,” he admitted, tearing his gaze from the empty doorway to look at the bandage Poppy was wrapping around his arm. He rubbed his face with his free hand then stared at the ceiling. The whistle of the kettle drifted through the cottage. “When is the sickness going to ease?”

“In the next few weeks, all being well, though I suspect that wasn’t what was keeping her awake.”

“No,” he said, quietly.

“Develop a potion, and above all else, use it. Am I making myself clear?” Poppy gave a delicate cough and he turned to look at her. “She needs you, Severus.”

He gave a small nod.

The fire crackled and shadows danced around the room. He slipped his other arm around her, his hand drifting past the shirt and beneath her top to rest against her soft belly. She sighed heavily and leant against him, settling further into his embrace as she worked small circles with her thumbs across the scarring. The potion made his skin shine and the Dark Mark pushed through the damage which both surrounded and covered it. 

She could remember using one the first formulations of the potion when she was pregnant. On the sofa with her back against him, his arms around her just the same, except his hand was against her bump. While she worked the potion along the lines of the skull, Teddy started kicking where Snape’s hand was. She felt the guilt coursing through him and was quick to grab his hand, bringing him back to her bump. She carried on working the potion into his skin with her other hand, her fingertips following the snake, she could make out the remnants of patterns within the brand. The suggestion of lines for fangs and the curves of scales. After a time, Snape’s hand drifted across her as he followed Teddy’s movements.

“Slytherin,” he murmured, breaking the silence.

He pressed his lips to her neck and she turned to look at him. “Hufflepuff.”

He took the chance to take both her hands in his and bring them to her bump. She closed her eyes and guided his hands across her until they both fell asleep.

Since the Battle at the Department of Mysteries years before, the scar which stretched from her hip across her back like the skeleton of a tree in winter would bother her, and had only worsened with pregnancy. When she was woken by pain from the cursed scar, he massaged her back using the potion he created for her which was little more than gentle ingredients to soothe the worst of the ache, but they both knew what it meant to take what relief there was. He would follow the lines of the scarring across her body and always return to the small of her back which would have ached regardless as the months went on. His hands would drift around her body, and in doing so found a distance from how the war had written itself across her. Her lips would find his, the time torn from them would disappear, and with one day at a time they made up for what had been taken from them.

When she massaged the different potions into his arm, he often had to walk away afterwards. Not simply because of the potency at her fingertips but to find a greater distance than the sweep of a hand across a body could afford. They would send owls for those letters which demanded attention, tidy up the cottage or see to the garden. In coming back to her, he would return with the possibility of intentions and she would reach out. Sometimes for no more than a kiss. At other times, she would lead him to bed. He didn’t stop her pressing her lips to the damage he had wrought upon himself but she never lingered, either. She made her point then he gladly helped her find other ways to occupy her mouth. Find her path back to her pleasure and his.

Tonks was in the midst of reconstructing the wards on the room where they kept certain Dark books and artefacts. Moody and Kingsley had sent a Dark Detector as a housewarming gift and Tonks was quite sure the device could pick up Dark Magic miles away. The detector was currently bundled in blankets and surrounded by a Silencing Charm which wavered in the light as the siren-like sound tried to break through. Snape was in one of the parlours which they had converted into a potions laboratory and the faint smell of a heating cauldron was drifting through the hallways and bringing with it the scent of what was brewing. She finished another incantation and looked at the dark detector which was still causing the Silencing Charm to waver, albeit a little less. She rubbed her forehead and was about to check the wording and wand movement for another spell she was planning to try when there was a smash and clang of glass and metal followed by a shout which was almost a roar. 

The threat of a fight still haunted them both and she ran through to the potions lab with her wand drawn. A natural part of learning to be a potions master was acquiring scars and burns. Cauldrons glowing from fire, sharp knives, potions splashing and simmering. The cauldron was on its side, the potion spread across the floor and dripping from the metal rim. Glass vials lay shattered on the floorboards beside blades which pierced the wood. And he wouldn’t look at her. His back heaved with agonised breaths, the haggard sounds filling the air where smoke and fumes had yet to penetrate. 

The accident, they would come to call it.

An easier way to frame the truth.

Though in that moment, it was just another battlefield. 

Without thinking, she flicked her wand and the sash windows flew wide open. Another flick saw the polluted air being directed outside while fresh summer air rushed in. Conscious of her bare feet, she darted around the spilled potion as she crossed the room.

“My—my hand slip—slipped,” he said, through gritted teeth.

She made a soft sound of acknowledgement as she looked him up and down, then taking his right hand led him at a brisk pace to the sink. She let go of him, turned on the cold tap, and pulled his left arm beneath the stream of water. He swore and his grasp on her tightened as he tried to pull his arm back.

“Don’t,” she said, quietly.

As the potion was sluiced from the wound, her gaze was fixed on the discovery of how deep the Dark Mark penetrated, something she knew but had never witnessed up close.

Holding his hand firmly in place, she stretched to undo the knot keeping his long heavy leather apron tied on, then lifted it off and flung it over the nearby bench. She made quick work of severing charms on his t-shirt until it fell to the floor. The cotton was only lightly marked, but she wasn’t taking any chances. 

“Boots,” she said, and he managed to kick off the boots which had small splatters of potion on them.

He was still breathing raggedly and refusing to look at her, his head hanging down, his long hair falling forward and masking him. The potion was all but gone from his arm, leaving behind a reminder that it was only weeks since they had been on the battlefield. Flesh, blood, sinew. The air thick with memories. Sunshine flooded the room and pools of potion glistened.

She sent the potion covered apron to a hook near the door along with the t-shirt, and charmed the boots to sit upright beneath a workbench. She began to clear the room of damage, though vanishing the potion didn’t remove the deep black marks left behind on the floorboards. Her knuckles ached from how tightly she was holding onto him in order to keep his arm under the tap, and the water was splashing over both of them. The handle of the cauldron clanged as it was righted on the bench. The glass from the shattered vials disappeared in a flurry of tinkling like a baby’s mobile caught in a breeze. 

His whole arm numb from the cold water, except for the explosions of pain whenever the water pressure changed or the stream hit somewhere new. The cascade of fire being washed away before racing back. As if he were fighting against a curse, he forced himself to release the counter he was gripping with his right hand and reach out for her. He managed to grasp her t-shirt and her head darted around as he looked up. She stepped closer and leant against him. He moved clumsily until his arm was around her waist. She tucked his hair behind his ear and rested her cheek against his before continuing to neutralise the potion and clear up the room. 

When she turned in his arms, she tucked herself against him, though not before panic chased pain through his body. She turned off the tap with a flick of her wand and he buried his face in her shoulder, swearing at the change in temperature and sensation. With delicate wand movements and an incantation which sounded like a lullaby, he recognised a form of shield emerge from her wand and wrap itself around his arm. The solid shimmering surface caused a distortion as if there were a layer of water atop the wound. Neither warm nor cold, she enchanted the shield to cover him from fingertips to elbow. When she stepped out of his embrace, she brought his injured arm up against his body, then ducked around him, sticking her hand in his back pocket and digging out a thin leather strip. Once she tied his hair back, she took his right hand and led him from the room, her eyes darting around for any damage she had missed, and summoning his wand when she spotted it.

In the parlour, where two sofas flanked the empty fireplace and a pair of armchairs were nestled together beneath the large window, she led him to the sofa which was in the shade. He sat down and she stood between his legs while she gathered cushions in a pile to the left of him. He hesitated then reached out and stroked her thigh. A strange pressure encompassed his shielded arm when she eased it down onto the cushions, and the pain both bolted and lingered, as if unsure of where to go. 

She brought her hand to his cheek as his breathing became too measured, her other hand drifting down so her fingers pressed gently against his body. His fingers gripped her thigh and she leaned closer. Reaching for her wand in her pocket, she charmed the windows open then stroked his cheek before leaving the room. 

Watching her walk away, wand shoved in her back pocket, he noticed her hair sweeping through changes. The chirping of birds drifted into the room and he listened to the creak of the floorboards.

Running upstairs, the warm breeze drifting through the cottage followed her into the bedroom. Catching sight of herself in the mirror, she metamorphosed so her hair was a solid pink, then found fresh tops for them both. She lingered near the bed, wondering how to send the message she knew she needed to. In the end, she watched her badger Patronus scamper through the open window with the few words which were needed and which would mean little to anyone else. 

He was staring at the cornicing which was chipping in places when there was the sound of her soft footsteps on the bare wood. He turned to see her come in wearing a different top and carrying one of his. She climbed carefully onto the sofa, kneeling beside him, and slowly began to gather the sleeve of the top up in her hands before reaching across him and easing it over his shielded arm. Once she helped him pull the top on, she sank back onto her ankles, her gaze on his right hand which she held in both of hers. She traced the scars on his fingers, the ones which were barely visible and others which stretched up towards his wrist.

“Tonks,” he murmured.

She looked at his other arm, the shield glowing strangely in the summer light. “This is the extent of my field healing knowledge.”

“Tonks—”

“Poppy should be here soon.”

“Thank you,” he said, quietly. 

She met his gaze, her eyes shining, and let go of his hand as she rushed to put her arms around his neck. His right arm around her, she swung her leg over his, half-straddling him. One of her hands slid down his body to rest over his heart. Closing her eyes, her thoughts drifted to heartbeats, hands, and breaths. To the first night, to home, to feeling him against her again.

“You will let her treat you, won’t you?” 

“I don’t think I have ever had much choice when it comes to Poppy.”

Tonks gave a hiccoughing laugh, and when Snape held her closer, there was some panic which admitted defeat and left her. What didn’t leave her was the niggling sense she should have been more nimble. That she should have been able to run to him faster. Battlefields didn’t scare her, it was who she would find there. Who would still be alive when the dust settled. He was her anchor when the ocean of worry surged and swelled. His breathing, his arm pulling her closer, his murmured apology. The panic which remained sat quietly, knew its place, and for a moment let her bask in him being alive. 

When they heard the crack of Apparition, Tonks startled and Snape stroked her back. She eased herself up and squeezed his hand before leaving the room. He heard the door in the kitchen open, the quiet welcomes, and the door being closed again. Tonks came back to the parlour with Poppy who had not one but two large carpet bags with her.

Tonks curled up against Snape on his uninjured side and he put his arm around her. The carpet bags at her feet, Poppy sat down on the other side of the pile of cushions.

“It’s astonishing how clumsy people have become in recent weeks,” said Poppy, drawing her wand across the shield around his arm so that it fell open then faded away. “I haven’t seen a potions accident quite like this, however.” She glanced up at Snape whose breathing had faltered, then began to examine his arm. As if she was speaking to herself, she said, “People forget that war doesn’t end once the battles are over.”

Several minutes passed as Poppy cast spells, one after another, which sent colours cascading down the walls as if a prism hung in the window were splitting the sunlight apart. Birds in the garden squabbled and their chorus drifted through the window to join Poppy’s old words of discovery and investigation. A grey mist coalesced inches above his arm, the form of the Dark Mark emerging. Poppy turned away after a moment and bent down to look through one of the carpet bags. Snape recognised her expression, the same one which had graced her features over the years whenever he relented to her care. Whenever he was at her mercy after serving his masters. It was little different to how she had looked at him when he was a child, as if she knew his future and could see the paths in front of him. When he was a child and she saw the scars which marked him long before Voldemort did. 

He could feel, in amongst the pain, the Dark Mark seeking to reclaim its place on his body, a testament to his choices, his decisions, his life. It wasn’t the burn of the summons but an echo of being seventeen. An echo which was almost deafening and yet, when Tonks kissed his cheek, the echo couldn’t drown out Tonks’s soft whisper of, “I’m here.” Snape held her closer, the warmth of her body against his like a magic of its own. 

Poppy was laying out vials on the cushions beside her when she paused and looked at Snape. She held up one of the potions, her expression gently hopeful, and he shook his head.

“Severus—”

“Only what is necessary.”

“We’ve had this discussion before,” said Poppy, glancing at Tonks who nodded. 

They’d been having this discussion since he was old enough to realise he could refuse, since the shame had him fully within its grip, unable to be convinced in the hospital wing by the promise of a Chocolate Frog after he had taken his potions. Once he returned as a teacher, Poppy would try at times to convince him, to argue her point that pain relief was necessary. He remembered on a handful of occasions she would bring out her large jar of Chocolate Frogs, the same one he remembered from childhood, and he would try to count the small boxes inside as she healed his latest injuries from Voldemort. He couldn’t remember how often he passed out from the pain. How often he suspected Poppy had taken those opportunities to give him potions which meant there was a fraction more ease when he woke.

When Snape didn’t say anything, Poppy pointed to a group of vials which he recognised as healing potions, and she said, “You will take these ones.”

After a moment, he nodded then took his arm from around Tonks. Poppy unstoppered the vials and handed them to him one at a time. Once he knocked back the potions, Tonks conjured a glass of water which he downed, and he said a quiet thank you. The empty glass on the coffee table, he put his arm around her again and she rested her head on his shoulder.

While Snape tried to count every chipped piece of plasterwork in the ceiling rose where a chandelier had once hung, Poppy worked on healing his arm and she shared the latest gossip with Tonks. Pieces from Hogwarts and Hogsmeade. Snippets from the Ministry which prompted Tonks to share small bits of news which reached her by owl. They weren’t venturing out much, were they? Poppy’s question came gently, and it was Snape who admitted they stayed at Rowan Cottage—with the exception of visiting friends and family—going to Diagon Alley and the Ministry only when unavoidable.

Tonks watched the shadows change in the room as the afternoon drifted on. They had all fallen silent when the healing became more intense. Poppy’s concentration was absolute and the words of healing flew from her lips like a lullaby which was a little too old for comfort. Tonks found herself struggling not to fall asleep, the ease of being comfortable against Snape, his arm around her, the rhythm of his breathing beneath where her hand rested on his body. At times the steadiness would stutter and she knew he was trying to regain control, to practice Occlumency and shut the pain away. When Poppy drew a potion from a vial with an incantation, and began to charm it within the wound, Snape’s breathing became ragged. The glow which hovered above his arm illuminated Poppy’s face, and her brow was slightly furrowed with concentration. When Tonks met his gaze, his grip on her tightened as he buried his face in her shoulder.

When Poppy began to wrap bandages around Snape’s arm, Tonks eased herself up from the sofa and once she steadied herself having grabbed Snape’s hand, she left the room. Snape rubbed his jaw as Poppy fixed the last of the bandage and cast more charms.

“I’m sorry,” he said.

“Don’t be daft.” She glanced up from her carpet bag where she was putting away empty vials and unused dressings. Putting the bag aside, she stood up and smoothed down her robes. “I’m going to go clean up and check on that tea.”

Snape nodded. He rested his head on the back of the sofa and closed his eyes. Memories of pain chased through his mind, the attempt to recognise this new agony, to unearth something which would tell him how long it might last. Curses, his apprenticeship, being branded, his childhood. Nothing was a match for the pain searing through his arm. He would cave. He knew he would. But he still wanted to hold out. To not have Poppy watching him down stronger versions of potions she had been giving him since he first attended Hogwarts. Since he returned to her a colleague and a Death Eater. She had patched him up so often and all he did was go back to her with new injuries. And now he had dragged Tonks into his pain. Except she had come running. Had done what he couldn’t in the aftermath. And she stayed by his side. He wanted to ask how, when he could barely tolerate himself in that moment.

“How is he?” asked Tonks, disappearing into the pantry as Poppy came into the kitchen.

“He’s found it in himself not to complain about any of the potions I used,” said Poppy, washing her hands at the sink beneath the window. There was a row of herbs in small pots behind the taps and on the other side of the glass a trough sat on the sill full of hardier plants which bloomed in the summer sunshine.

“He knows better than to argue with you.” Tonks closed the pantry door behind her, a tin of biscuits in one arm. When she caught sight of Poppy’s raised eyebrows, she put the tin on the table and said, “Everyone does.”

Poppy chuckled then put down the towel and strode over to Tonks, embracing her in a gentle hug. Tonks rested her chin on Poppy’s shoulder and watched the bees visiting the flowers in the window box. The day which followed the Battle of Hogwarts had been bright, too. Clear blue skies above the ruined castle and sunshine which cast the rubble in gold. There were no birds chattering that day, though. And the remnants of battle were inescapable. In the kitchen of Rowan Cottage, sitting on a chair was a basket of laundry waiting to be put away, dishes drying in the rack, and two pairs of muddy wellies by the door. She wasn’t surrounded by battle or standing in ruins, and still, in the parlour Snape was enduring what Tonks could only think of as another kind of battle. She wondered how long this war would last. If it would ever really end.

“Thank you for coming over so quickly,” said Tonks, quietly. 

“You caught me at the right moment,” said Poppy. “Any later and I would have been in the middle of weeding.”

Tonks laughed and Poppy rubbed her back.

Tonks pulled away and before she could grab the tray of mugs, Poppy had swept it up from the table. Tonks picked up the tin of biscuits. “We’ll have to come visit and help you, then. Make up for a lost afternoon.”

“You will come visit regardless,” said Poppy. “Though, so help me, you are welcome to try and tackle the ground elder if you can. Even your father was impressed by how vigorous it’s got.”

In the parlour, Poppy set down the tray and taking a mug of tea went to sit on the other sofa. Tonks put the tin of biscuits on the coffee table and sat down beside Snape. She sank back against the plump cushions, and resting her head on Snape’s shoulder, took his right hand in both of hers. 

Poppy was asking Snape about spells which might combat weeds and Tonks was vaguely aware of his thumb stroking her hand and the warmth of his body which soothed a tension in herself she couldn’t place. Her gaze drifted to the empty fireplace. There were rows of mottled green tiles flanked by larger squares in which vines stretched and swirled across the ceramic pausing only where there were fractures in the glaze, while the petals of the intricate blue flowers were confined to closed buds which wouldn’t bloom until a fire was lit. Her eyelids heavy, she was sure she heard Snape mention Narcissa and cursing plants.

Tonks gave a soft sigh and Snape glanced at her. She was sinking further against the sofa and him as she drifted off. 

“I would say she’s sound asleep,” said Poppy, smiling gently. “Did you have a late night?”

“No,” he said. “She’s just been more tired lately.”

Her hand in his, the slow rhythm of her breathing was keeping him tethered when the pain was trying to drag him somewhere darker, to sever the truth he could feel against him. The heaviness of her body in sleep was real; no dream, no nightmare. They were alive and safe and she was napping. While the pain crashed against his defences, rushing to find a weakness as the reverberations sought paths through this body, he could still feel her, could still hear the birds in the garden, could see where the sunlight touched her.

“It’s all the work on the cottage.” He stifled a wince. “Half the time she naps like this.”

Poppy looked Tonks up and down before taking a sip of her tea. She turned back to Snape, summoned a biscuit, and asked, “Have you started renovating any of the other bedrooms?”

When Tonks stirred half an hour later, she rubbed her face then swore. “Oh Merlin.” Snape squeezed her hand and she pressed her head against his shoulder. Their mugs of tea and coffee were still on the table, full and likely little more than lukewarm. She stroked his arm and turned to look at Poppy. “I’m sorry. That was so rude of me, and after everything you’ve done, too.”

“Hush,” said Poppy, putting her mug back on the tray. “I’ve enjoyed hearing about how the renovations are going.” She smoothed down her robes, rose from the sofa, and picked up her carpet bags. She looked back and forth between Snape and Tonks. “You are both to take things easy, am I making myself clear?”

Snape stood up and tightened his grip on Tonks’s hand as she followed him.

“We’ll be good,” said Tonks, not letting Snape go as they walked through the cottage back to the kitchen. Despite the hour, she wanted to curl up again and go back to sleep.

In the doorway, Tonks leant against Snape and waved again just before Poppy closed the garden gate behind herself. Poppy called out her reminder to take things easy, then a moment later the crack of Apparition startled the birds who still weren’t used to the sound. The chatter in the hedgerows resumed, the busy chirps filling the early summer evening. 

Snape watched the bees lazily making their way in and out of the deep pink bells of the foxgloves which were beneath the kitchen window. There was a breeze snaking through the garden, but it was Tonks’s gentle breathing, the slow inhale and exhale against his neck, which he was trying to focus on. Pain sparked beneath the bandages, as if the wound were seeking to burn again, the smouldering agony waiting to ignite. The bandage made him feel clumsy with the dressings encompassing his arm from wrist to just shy of his elbow. He tried to flex his fingers but the smallest movements sent pain ricocheting through him and he stiffened.

Tonks squeezed Snape’s right hand, and said, “Come on.”

She led him upstairs, through their bedroom, and straight into the bathroom. She let his hand go and he sat on the edge of the tub while she went to a large oak cabinet beside the sink. She was looking through the shelves and still had her back to him, picking up potions and putting others back until she held one small vial. She closed the cabinet then came over and sat beside him. 

He stared at the bare floorboards where knots were nestled in the wood like small galaxies. She nudged his foot with hers and he leaned forward putting his elbows on his thighs only to sit up straight biting back expletives from the pain. Tonks stood up and reached for his hand. Her fingers intertwined with his. He had brought the battlefield into their home and she was standing between his legs, one of her hands in his and the other holding pain relief potion. As if there were stones tied to his wrist, he raised his injured arm and grabbed the waist of her trousers. She stepped closer and he rested his forehead against her soft belly. 

His hand was shaking where he held her and she knew all she could do was wait. The vial was warming in her hand but the potion could cope with ordinary fluctuations in temperature. There were plenty others in the cabinet, ones which would erase more of the pain, ones which would last for longer. What she held felt almost inconsequential but anything more potent and she knew he would have baulked immediately.

She yawned twice in quick succession.

“Bed,” he choked out, his voice hoarse. “Do—do you need to rest?”

“I feel like I could sleep for a week.”

His grasp on her tightened and he raised his head to look at her. He never understood how injuries could be so tiring. How the cost of them could be so disproportionate to the initial damage.

Still holding the vial, she stroked his cheek with the back of her fingers. “Come nap with me?”

He nodded and let her lead him back through to the bedroom. The rug which covered much of the floor was warm where it lay in the sunshine. The windows hadn’t been closed for days, the temperatures unrelenting. Tonks found herself longing for another storm. She knew it wouldn’t be much longer before there would be heavy clouds aching with rain which would bring thunder and lightning with them. For now though, the skies above them were clear but for traces of thin clouds. Tentative touches of sunset bled into the brightness and she knew he was drenched in pain.

She put the vial on his bedside table and let go of his hand before clambering onto the mattress and pushing back the light blanket which was all they needed during the hot summer nights. She lay down, pulling the pillows closer as a slight shiver ran through her at the cool touch of the sheets against her skin.

He rubbed his jaw and got into bed beside her, propping himself up on his good arm. His gaze settled on the space between them. She reached over and her hand settled on his body. They were alive and he brought the battlefield into their home. He had proved what was tied to him, what he suspected he would never be rid of. And her hand was slipping under his top, not stopping until she was above his heart. 

In Poppy’s cottage, under a wealth of blankets, he was still cold to the touch. Still too close what had tried to pull him from the world. Now he was warm beneath her fingers. Alive and warm and in their bed. Side by side. But there were flickers of pain he wasn’t managing to disguise. When she murmured his name, he looked up and searched her eyes.

“I don’t know how to hold you,” he said, as if it hurt to say the words.

She took her hand from him and pushed herself up, rubbing her forehead where an ache had begun to settle. “Lie on your back.”

In trying to ease himself down, he caught his arm and swore loudly. She glanced at the vial on the bedside table but didn’t say anything. She knew the potion would likely be gone by the time she woke up. Knew he needed to do it on his own terms. Once he was lying down, she grabbed a pillow and leaning across him, nudged his fingers. He raised his arm and she slipped the pillow underneath. She kept herself against him, one leg across his and her hand drifting back under his top. For all the pillows she had arranged, she rested her head on his shoulder, and he wrapped his uninjured arm around her. 

Was it really only that morning she had been on her back? Her legs around him. Her moans, whimpers, whispered words. The dawn chorus had woken her, though he had been stirring from how restless she was. Once she was wide awake, she pulled him on top of her and he came willingly. With the sun still to rise fully, the bedroom was in low light, and the shadows had little intention of moving. But she turned her head, eyes closed as he wrought a deep moan from her, and she grabbed his hand. He went to kiss her wrist and saw his Dark Mark. He pressed his lips to her, kept thrusting, held her hand tighter. And hated himself. Hated that the brand could draw his attention from her. When in that moment, she should be everything.

He stared at the ceiling and listened to her breathing. Focused on each rise and fall of her chest. The small sighs as she settled more deeply into sleep. He knew the vial was on the bedside table, knew he would have to give in, knew Occlumency wouldn’t be enough.

“You’re meant to be asleep,” she mumbled against him, forcing herself to open her eyes. She tilted her head, waited for Snape, and kissed him. Her lips brushing his, she said, “We’re safe.”

He kissed her then she sank back against him, and he knew she really was drifting off to sleep when her hair began to flicker with rapid changes. Everything was changing again. He had brought a battlefield into their home. He let his gaze wander around the room. They were alive and they had a home. Except home was more than Rowan Cottage. Home was the two of them being safe in bed. Safe. We’re safe, she had said. Her pink hair flickered black, her hand slid across his body, and he realised why Rowan Cottage felt more like home than anywhere else ever had. He wanted to bring his other arm around her, but in the end he pressed his lips to her hair. It was the slightest stretch, and still it sent pain ricocheting through him.

He glanced at the bedside table where the vial sat, almost glowing where it was illuminated by the sunlight. He could remember the same potion in a different vial sitting beside a jar of Chocolate Frogs. He could remember too many potions in different vials and bottles sitting beside jars of Chocolate Frogs. He summoned the vial and tried to use his other hand to help but was soon struggling. In one quick motion he managed to take out the stopper, down the potion, put the stopper back and return the vial to the table. In pulling Tonks closer while he did so, she only sighed heavily. He sank back against the bed and closed his eyes, grimacing as the effort of taking the potion tore through his veins making sure every bit of Poppy’s healing was tested. But there was a fraction of ease in how the pain was coalescing into something around which he could practice Occlumency.

Somewhere in the ivy near the bedroom window, there was a furious chattering followed by the bustle of wings and leaves. A bee with little time for dramatics flew from the nearby clematis to one which trailed around the window of the next bedroom. What little breeze there was eased even further and in the golden glow of the early evening, Snape finally let sleep take him as Tonks’s breathing became the focus he could let himself rest in.

Tonks smoothed the potion over his Dark Mark one last time and Snape stroked her belly. Yawning, she got up from the sofa and padded through to the kitchen which was dark but for the orange glow which touched it. He eased the sleeve of his top down and summoned the blanket. 

The dishes were drying in the rack and the pan was upside down on a tea towel beside the sink. They could put things away in the morning, and she knew she was in no state to try and charm everything to dry and put itself away. She washed her hands and left the tea towel on the counter.

He was waiting for her, having barely moved, and she laughed when he gestured to his lap. She clambered onto the sofa and settled between his legs again. He arranged the blanket around them and in the low firelight, she sought his mouth. Pressed her lips to his, and moved when he deepened the kiss. They slid further down the sofa, trying to manage the blanket and cushions as they held each other close and lay down properly. His hands drifted under her top and her fingers tangled in his hair.

He pulled away and rested his forehead against hers. Then his fingers were digging into her as his arm jerked and his shoulder twitched. The scent of the potion wound around them and his breathing faltered. 

It wasn’t the first time that the effects of the potion were delayed while they took time to penetrate his arm. She knew that it wasn’t always the potion, either. Different exertions drew out different consequences. 

The pain had broken the gates and he was trying to build them back up again. This injury, unlike others, sought him out to his core. Sought out and intertwined with memories and the past in a way which could never be undone. The tendrils of Dark Magic were bound to him and he had a proof which had scarred him further. He had answers and the unknown bound, healed, and burned. 

She brought her hand down to his cheek and he met her gaze. Her lips brushing his, she said, “I’m here.”

He searched her eyes and let himself follow the sensation of her fingertips drifting down his cheek, neck, body. She slipped her hand under his top and found his heart. The pain began to relent though not before smashing into him once more in a fury which left him rigid for a moment. His arms around her, he held her close and sought her lips. Slow kisses which were all his concentration afforded him as he practiced Occlumency and found his way back to her.


End file.
